


Budapest

by jamesgatz1925



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Mycroft is a strong independent woman who don't need no man, Sexual Content, So does Lestrade, Uhm, Unilock, eventually, female!Mycroft, john makes an appearance, she's really cool idk i like her, sherlock is here, there is a little bit of angst eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesgatz1925/pseuds/jamesgatz1925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes does not need a boyfriend right now. Or ever.<br/>--<br/>"Gregory chuckles, as he does when he doesn’t really realize that she’s trying to insult him. It just makes Mycroft laugh and enjoy his stupidity all the more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has nothing to do with the largest city in Hungary and everything to do with the song Budapest by George Ezra, which was complete inspiration for this fic. It actually has nothing to do with the song's lyrics, well maybe not a LOT to do with the lyrics, but I listened to this song on repeat as I wrote. Listen to the song. Imagine female Mycroft and Lestrade as you do.  
> I hope someone enjoys this.

Mycroft Holmes would be embarrassed to admit how much she enjoys the fact that Gregory Lestrade has a pathetic little crush on her. She could squash the man with her bare hands, she could outsmart him quicker than he’d even realize, but there was something about holding all of this power over him that she liked. She liked the idea that she could bring a man to his knees with a simple quirk of her lips.

 

She was never been this way before, until about two years ago when she got her first real boyfriend. Until uni, at her private school and her short time in college, she stayed away from boys. Boys were mean when they were teenagers; they were rude and only liked the obviously pretty girls who were blonde and thin. Mycroft has never like that. She’s always had a bit of meat on her bones, her face had always been more round than everybody else’s. But last summer, she vowed to herself to begin eating healthier and exercising more.

 

And it wasn’t for anybody but herself. It was for her health. She was always fine with the way she looked and by the shape of her body, but the doctors began steering her into a direction of fitness, so she took it and literally ran.

 

Now muscle cages the meat and she’s never thought her thick thighs could look this in short skirts, but oh how they do.

 

The fact that men have taken to her new body is just a statement of how dumb they are, is what she thinks. She’s the same person. She’s the same girl she was last summer only with a different outer shell. But they flock to her like flies to a lamp; she often gets more attention than her smaller friends. But she doesn’t appreciate the attention she gets.

 

Well, not all of it.

 

Because here is Gregory Lestrade, whose future is undecided and is only in uni to play football, waiting for her to say any command and he’d jump to it quickly. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing everything she tells him to do. He has a smile that says he thinks he’s in control, his eyes are gleaming with the idea that tonight is when he’ll make his move and ask her back to his flat, and he’s speaking with confidence. His chin is raised high and his chest is puffed out like a lion on the hunt.

 

Mycroft looks around the bar to where the men Lestrade came with are chatting up the women she came with. It was supposed to be a girl’s night, but of course that means ‘let’s go out as a group to find men because going alone is actually quite terrifying’.

 

Mycroft excused herself to the bar and Gregory followed.

 

“We only came out tonight to find girls and look, here you all are,” Gregory says after he’s ordered. He leans back on the bar and his body is shifted openly towards Mycroft.

 

Mycroft rolls her eyes. “We didn’t come here for you.”

 

“You came here for men. I am a man.”

 

“Are you? I thought you were the newest discovery of ape.”

 

Gregory chuckles, as he does when he doesn’t really realize that she’s trying to insult him. It just makes Mycroft laugh and enjoy his stupidity all the more.

 

“Chimpanzee would be more accurate,” he argues, “Seeing that we can be sexually promiscuous and driven by our huge—“

 

Mycroft makes a face as she sips her drink. Three seconds is a quick transition from talking casually to a man mentioning his dick.

 

“Don’t look so sour, I was going to say brains.”

 

Mycroft does chuckle at that. “Right.”

 

“Honestly,” Gregory says. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Mycroft glances at him and he’s looking at her with a genuinely caring look in his eye. That is the part that makes her uncomfortable.

 

“Either way,” she says. “You and the words ‘huge brain’ doesn’t quite fit.”

 

Gregory laughs again. “Not as large as yours, I can assure you.”

 

Mycroft sips her drink again. Two skewed compliments and that caring look all within two minutes; Lestrade is really trying tonight. Usually he says something equally as sarcastic, they argue about something petty, then he leaves in a huff only to text her later with a half-arsed apology. But tonight he is being…sweet. He must really be lonely.

 

Mycroft isn’t going to buy it. When she let him make out with her five months ago, it was after four seemingly random meetings (like tonight, in a bar with friends) and she counted the compliments he paid her before she let him anywhere near her. She’s not going to give it again just because he says two nice things in a row.

 

“You are really trying tonight, aren’t you?”

 

Gregory smiles innocently. “What?”

 

“You’re pretending to be sweet. You haven’t had sex in…wow, almost a month. My condolences, Lestrade.”

 

He laughs. “I will not confirm or deny that number. Can’t you just believe I’m trying to be nice without any ulterior motives?”

 

“Not when you, the king of everyone knowing your sexual history, haven’t had sex in a month.”

 

Gregory sips his beer. When he sets the bottle down and licks moisture from his lips, he nods at a girl down the bar. “See her?”

 

Mycroft turns around to look at the girl. Petite, blonde, nice jaw line, pert breasts, short skirt. She’s got a charm bracelet with a Greek letter on it, which means she is probably in a sorority. Which means, statistically, she probably has an STD.

 

“She probably has an STD,” Mycroft mutters, turning back to Lestrade.

 

“Now how can you possibly tell that?”

 

“She has a Greek letter charm on her bracelet.”

 

“Which means…”

 

Mycroft sighs. “Do try to keep up at least once, Lestrade. It means she must be in a sorority, and statistically speaking, Greek members are more likely to be carrying STD’s.”

 

Lestrade frowns a bit. “Well…what are the actual chances she—“

 

“Are you really going to risk your health just to fuck her?”

 

Lestrade swirls his beer bottle around. “No…I guess not…”

 

“Just the fact that you’re honestly considering it is kind of gross, Lestrade.”

 

“I’m not considering it!”

 

Mycroft shakes her head.

 

“So, why won’t you go out with me?”

 

Mycroft laughs. “Because you don’t want someone to go out with. You want someone to have sex with. I don’t want to be your bloody girlfriend.”

 

“So…then why don’t you be a girl I have sex with?”

 

“Have you ever considered the fact that I don’t want to have sex with you?”

 

Lestrade looks surprised, almost hurt.

 

“Lestrade, listen to me very carefully. Throughout the rest of your life, you are bound to meet people who don’t want anything to do with your dick. Straight women, gay women, gay men, straight men, whatever. They are not going to want to see you naked.”

 

He quietly downs the last half of his beer in one drink. Mycroft almost feels bad for breaking that news to him, but somebody had to.

 

“So…why not?” he quietly asks.

 

She looks at him. “Why, what?”

 

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

 

“God, really, Lestrade?”

 

He nods.

 

“Because I will tell you. And your feelings will be undoubtedly hurt.”

 

“Hang on then,” he says, turning to the bar. He waves the barman over and orders another beer for himself and another drink for Mycroft. When they are served, he takes a large drink and sets the bottle down.

 

“Ok,” he finally says. “Lay it on me.”

 

Mycroft takes a deep breath. “Well, first of all, you’re largely sexist. You assume every female you come in contact with somehow owes you something. Second, you are a slob. I’ve seen your bedroom, and the thought of entering it scares me. Third, I tend to like men whose IQ’s are at least in the same threshold as mine. And four, I absolutely —and I cannot stress this enough— hate football.”

 

Lestrade takes another large drink of beer. “So. Let me get this straight. I’m a womanizer. My bedroom is too dirty. I’m too dumb. And you hate what I do.”

 

“In a nutshell,” Mycroft replies.

 

“Has is ever occurred to you that you have flaws, too?” he asks.

 

“I have not been pursuing you for the past year.”

 

“Well, there are still things about you that I don’t like.”

 

“Enlighten me,” she says, turning completely to him. “Please, tell me what you, man who hasn’t left me alone for a year, don’t like about me.”

 

“Well, you…” he looks at her clothes (black leggings and a flowy white top) and her hair (pulled back into a tight pony-tail, the way she usually wears it). “You’re…” Lestrade purses his lips and his eyebrows knit together in thought. “You…”

 

“Lovely,” Mycroft mutters, grinning and taking a drink of her scotch on the rocks. “When you can think of something, I’d love to hear it. And anyway, you only want me because I seem to be the only person in the world capable of telling you no. If I said yes to you right now, once it was over you’d be willing to never speak to me again.”

 

“What if that didn’t happen?”

 

“Though the idea of sleeping with you just to prove you wrong does sound appealing, it’s still not something I would like to do.”

 

“Come on, Mycroft,” he whines.

 

Mycroft smirks. “Oh, beg again. It was kind of sexy.”

 

“You’re unbelievable.”

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

They’re silent for a minute or two, and Mycroft knows this is about when Greg is going to leave. He’ll go down the bar and talk to the sorority girl and Mycroft will be left with a strange feeling of missing the attention he gave her. It happens every time, and Mycroft still doesn’t know what to make of it or what to do about it.

 

“How could I change your mind?” he asks.

 

Mycroft blinks in surprise. “What?”

 

“What could I do, how could I change, to have a shot with you?”

 

“You are willing to undergo an entire character makeover just to get in my panties?”

 

“Maybe I realize I am as big an arse as you say. Maybe this isn’t about you. Maybe this is about all the other hot girls who don’t like me because I’m a jerk. You can help me.”

 

Mycroft considers this. She would be doing the world a favor by turning Lestrade into a respectable human being. She would be doing loads of future females a favor by bringing a nice non-sexist Gregory onto the map.

 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

 

Mycroft downs the last of her drink. “When you can tell me all the parts and functions of a female reproductive organ, then I will consider helping you.”

 

“Isn’t it just a vagina?”

 

She rolls her eyes and hops off her barstool. “See you around, Lestrade.”

* * *

 

Three days later, while Mycroft is in a conference meeting with two of her school advisors, her phone beings to ring.

 

“I apologize,” she says, taking her phone out of her purse and turning it on silent. “I didn’t realize my phone was not on vibrate.”

 

The advisors smile politely.

 

When she gets out of her meeting, she checks her phone again and sees that she has four missed calls from Lestrade.

 

Rolling her eyes, she calls him back.

 

“You’d better be dead or dying,” she says when he answers.

 

“I just thought you’d want to know that after three days of research and awkwardly asking my biology instructor,” he says, “That I now know all the parts of the female reproductive system.”

 

“And you called four times while I was in a meeting because of that?”

 

“I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”

 

“Most of the time, if it’s the middle of the day and you’re calling someone who has important things to do, you leave a message and wait for them to call you back.”

 

“You called back.”

 

“You called four times.”

 

“Well, it’s important to me.”

 

Mycroft sighs. “Fine. Meet me for dinner and we’ll talk.”

 

“Dinner? You asking me out, Holmes?”

 

“No. Goodbye.”

 

Mycroft hangs up before he can argue that it’s a date. It’s not a date. She knows it’s not a date. She’s doing a deed for the world by agreeing to help him.

* * *

 

 

“Alright,” she says as she takes her jacket off and folds it over the back of her chair. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

“Already? We’ve just sat down.”

“If you’re bullshitting, I want to leave before I order.”

Gregory smiles. “Fine, be ready to eat your words.

“So basically, your body produces an ova, which is used for fertilization, and everything else makes sure it’s safe. Conception occurs in the fallopian tubes, which, admittedly, I didn’t know existed. Then, once the egg is fertilized, it implants in the walls of the uterus to begin…uh…y’know, pregnancy. And you get a period if nothing is fertilized. And your period is when the uterine line sheds. Which is totally freaky, I can’t believe that happens inside someone’s body.”

Mycroft laughs at his adlibbing. “Yeah, it’s pretty dreary.”

“Yeah. So anyway,” he goes on, telling Mycroft everything he learned. People tables over glance at them awkwardly, but Mycroft doesn’t care. She’s never cared about what other people thought, and if they’re uncomfortable by the scientific and biological uses of a female body, that’s their fault, not hers.

She is pleased that Gregory has done his homework. She can already tell he’s trying to be a better person.

By the time the waiter returns (for the third time), Gregory is finished with his speech. He looks at Mycroft expectantly, wondering if she’s going to stay to have a meal with him.

Mycroft just smiles and orders, and Gregory looks the happiest Mycroft has ever seen him. Mycroft knows he likes her, whether it’s purely sexual or if he’s actually interested in her as a person, but she’ll never quite get used to that ‘you’re-the-only-person-I-see-right-now’ look he gives her.

* * *

 

After a pleasant dinner, Mycroft lets Gregory walk her home, but she doesn’t ask him inside, lest he get the wrong idea. But he doesn’t look like he cares. He politely kisses Mycroft’s cheek, in a purely friendly way that she does with most of her friends, then leaves Mycroft at her front door.

She doesn’t know if the excitement that runs through her is from the one-on-one time she had with Lestrade or from…

Biting her lip, Mycroft can’t think of another explanation for the tingles she has. Trying not to give it any more thought, she goes straight to her closet to change for bed.

 

 


	2. Meeting New People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now become aware that people do not play sports in university like they do here in the US. I'll try to think of something to change that, but for now Greg does. It'll be an AU. Sports!AU.

“You never call me.”

Mycroft has to physically stop herself from hanging up. Instead, she retorts, “Would you like me to never do it again?”

“I would love it if you did it more,” Lestrade says, his voice flirty.

Mycroft rolls her eyes and tries not to grin, because not even to herself does she like to admit she likes his attention.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks as a diversion.

“Why, you askin’ me out?”

“Of course not. But I would like to request your company when I go out. I want you to meet a few people.”

“Tonight?” Lestrade asks excitedly.

“I already said tonight, Lestrade. I do hate repeating myself. Be ready at nine, I’ll pick you up.”

“Picking me up for our date. Nice.”

“Shut up,” she says, still smiling. She hangs up before he can say anything.

* * *

 

When Mycroft gets to Lestrade’s building, she rings the bell and is buzzed up immediately. She assumes Gregory is sitting by the buzzer waiting to let her in, but when she gets into the flat, he’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, his friend Kendal opens the door.

The boy’s smile is wide and knowing. “Hey Holmes.”

“Wood,” she says back, because they only refer to each other by their last names.

He closes the door behind her with a pleased groan. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Mycroft sighs. “I presume he’s in his bedroom.”

“You presume correctly. I’d knock first, though. He’s _excited_ that he gets to hang out with you tonight.” He makes a rude gesture with his hand at his groin, and Mycroft adds  _Find a Better Flatmate_ to the list of ways to change Lestrade into a better man.

“Kendal, do the world a favor and shut the fuck up for a few minutes. Okay?”

Wood just smiles, so Mycroft leaves him and wanders down the hall to Lestrade’s bedroom.

She does knock before entering, but only because she has common decency.

Mycroft waits a second before she hears him get off a chair and walk to the door. When he opens it, he points at his mobile attached to his ear.

“Yes sir,” he says waving Mycroft in. “Yes, I…yeah. I understand.”

Mycroft steps over his dirty laundry littered on the floor to get to his bed, where she sweeps a hand on the duvet before sitting delicately on the very edge. As Lestrade paces back and forth, he continues rambling agreements, only offering original ideas a few times. Mycroft tries not to listen, but it’s not like there’s anything else entertaining happening in the room. Instead, she begins to plan on making Gregory clean this room. She makes a mental list of cleaning supplies.

“I look forward to it,” Gregory finally says after a few minutes of listening. “Thank you so much, sir.”

He hangs up and throws his arms up in the air at the same time. He lets out a happy howl.

“Uhm…” Mycroft watches, confused. “Good news?”

“The freakin’ best,” Lestrade says. “I get the start next week. I haven’t been able to start all season because my stupid knee, but I got the all clear and here I am. Starting next week!”

Mycroft smiles, but doesn’t really have any excitement to offer. She does not care for football, and as this is a football thing, she does not really care. But his happiness is infectious, it seems.

“I’m…happy for you.”

“Thank you,” he says, sitting on the bed next to her. Mycroft glances at the pile of books he sat on. He doesn't seem to notice.

“So, where are we going?” he asks, tugging his black Converse on. “Is what I’m wearing okay? I can change if you want me to match your nicer outfit.”

Mycroft looks at him for the first time, having spent most of this time making sure she doesn’t catch sight of a living creature in the filth. He’s got on jeans and a nicer black hoodie sweatshirt on, which is less dressed up compared to her oversized white button up shirt tucked in to skinny black jeans. His Converse definitely do not match her teal Jimmy Choo pumps. But he looks nice and smells good, so that’s all that really matters.

“That’s fine. We’re just going to a bar.”

“A bar on our first date? Nice.”

Mycroft shakes her head and huffs out a laugh. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

They walk into the bar and Lestrade immediately notices what is different about this bar.  
  
"You brought me to a gay bar."  
  
"I sure did," Mycroft says with a grin. "You need to meet women who are more than likely not attracted to you. And you will meet many. There will be a quiz at the end of the night."

“A quiz?” he playfully asks. “On? Lesbians?”

“On women. On how you treat women when you don’t expect them to want to have sex with you.”

Gregory chuckles motions for her to lead. “You’ve made your point, alright? Nobody wants to have sex with me.”

“I wouldn’t say nobody,” she says. “That man over there looks like he might.”

“Hey, the night is young and the world is full of possibilities.”  
  
Mycroft laughs as she takes a seat at the bar and spins the stool next to her for Gregory to occupy. She looks down the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and when the girl behind the counter does, she smiles widely.  
  
"V!" the girl calls down the bar, waving.  
  
"You know her?" Gregory asks as Mycroft waves back.  
  
"I do."  
  
"Do you frequent this place or something?"  
  
Mycroft laughs. "Lestrade, look around. Observe for once. What kind of people do you see here?"  
  
Lestrade looks around. "I'll go with...homosexuals."  
  
Mycroft flicks his head.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Students, Lestrade. Most people here are students. We go to school with them! I know her from a biology class I took two terms ago."  
  
The bartender finally makes it over to them. She practically hops onto the bar to hug Mycroft.  
  
"My dear," she says, kissing Mycroft’s cheek in a friendly fashion. "It's been too long!"  
  
"Agreed!" Mycroft cries. "Heather, this is my friend Gregory. Gregory, this is Heather."  
  
Gregory reaches over to shake her hand. "Greg is fine."  
  
Heather shakes his hand. "Pleasure, Greg. What'll you have? Beer?" She lists the drinks they’ve got on tap, then Gregory selects one.  
  
Heather turns to Mycroft. "And you, V? Scotch on the rocks?"  
  
Mycroft nods, too. "Thanks, Heather."  
  
Heather walks away and Lestrade slowly turns to her.  
  
"You don't frequent this place, huh?"  
  
"She's my friend, of course she knows what I drink. Not that it's a difficult drink to remember."  
  
"And why does she call you V?"  
  
"She couldn't remember my name when we had class together. She decided to call me V."  
  
Lestrade nods in understanding.  
  
Their drinks are served and they talk between sips. Mycroft introduces him to girls she knows, even some men, and he is friendly to everyone. It pleases Mycroft to see him not objectifying the women, but instead talking to them like they're human beings. She knows it's not just because he knows they're not attracted to him; she knows he's already improving his personality for the better. Gregory acts as though he’s really seeing people for the first time, and he has a new found respect for women.  
  
After a while, Lestrade starts talking to a man about football and other things, so Mycroft looks around the room. The girl next to Mycroft has her back to the bar and eyes everyone too.  
  
"I can never seem to find anyone here," the girl says, sipping her drink.  
  
Mycroft chuckles. "I never come looking."  
  
"And you've had luck that way?"  
  
Mycroft grins and shrugs.  
  
The girl looks at Mycroft. "I'm Leah."  
  
"Mycroft."  
  
Leah shakes her hand. "That's an unusual name."  
  
"It was my grandfather's," Mycroft tells her. "I've been keeping it.”  
  
Leah laughs. "I bet you've done a good job at it, too."  
  
Mycroft shrugs. "I've tried."  
  
Leah begins to ask Mycroft questions about what she does and what she's in school for. Mycroft talks with Leah easily, asking similar questions and learning more about the beautiful dark skinned girl as the night goes on.  
  
She pretty much forgets that Lestrade is there behind her until Leah excuses herself to the restroom.  
  
"Are you into her?"  
  
Mycroft turns around, rolling her eyes.  
  
"If I was?" she asks.  
  
Lestrade shrugs. "I'd be jealous."  
  
"Of?"  
  
"A: That you can pull a hotter girl than I can. And B: that I'm not who you're looking at in the room."  
  
"You'd be okay with it if I was attracted to her?"  
  
"Well, like I said I'd be jealous. But as far as...like, you being attracted to a girl? No."  
  
"Oh," Mycroft mutters, slightly surprised. This is about when most people tell her she has to choose one or the other. And she's never felt the need or want to choose. She's dated more men, sure, and she’s always known she is primarily attracted to men, but women have always been an option.  
  
"No need to be so shocked. I'm not homophobic or biphobic or any phobic. It's cool."  
  
"Thanks," she says, a smile forming across her lips.  
  
"But might I suggest something?"  
  
"You might."  
  
Lestrade bites his lip, then reaches over and pops the highest fastened button on Mycroft's shirt, revealing more cleavage.  
  
"Lestrade!"  
  
"Come on, you do that for me and I'd die."  
  
Mycroft slightly blushes, then re-buttons her shirt.  
  
"I didn't come here to meet anyone."  
  
"Suit yourself. She's into you, though."  
  
Mycroft just shrugs. "Speaking of into," she says, changing the subject. "That girl's been eyeing you all night."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"My 12-o'clock."  
  
Lestrade turns back to the bar to take a drink of his beer, simultaneously non-discreetly looking around for the girl.  
  
"Smooth," Mycroft mutters.  
  
Lestrade turns back to her. "I thought everyone in here was gay."  
  
"I'm not and you're not."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"Are you going to go talk to her?"  
  
Lestrade drinks his beer and shakes his head.  
  
"Why not?" Mycroft asks, both relieved and genuinely curious.  
  
"Because I already came with a hot girl."  
  
Mycroft hides her smile behind a sip of scotch. Gregory smiles back at her.

* * *

 

Gregory does end up getting a number at the end of the night, but it is the number of Leah, the girl Mycroft was talking to. After she finds out that Mycroft is helping him become a better man, Leah offers her help by asking him to start volunteering at a youth center where she works. Gregory agrees, to Mycroft’s delight, and he says he’ll call Leah as soon as he becomes free.

“That was fun,” Gregory muses as they walk away from the bar.

“It was,” Mycroft agrees. “You enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. And I’m ready for my quiz.”

Mycroft chuckles. “I didn’t actually prepare questions. How about you tell me what you learned.”

“I learned that Cristiano Ronaldo has a great arse—“

“No!” Mycroft cries, laughing. “About the people you met.”

Gregory laughs back. “Oh, right. Let’s see…I think the best thing I learned is that you’re not the only hot girl in the world who also possesses a fantastic, sexy—“

Mycroft is ready to hit him.

“Calm down, I was going to say brain.”

Mycroft does calm a bit. “Go on.”

“Well, that girl Rachel I was talking to? She’s in med school studying to become a brain surgeon. She told me that when she told a college teacher that, he laughed in her face. She said she had the highest grade in most of her classes, and that prick laughed at her. Unbelievable, right?”

“You have no idea.”

“And,” he goes on, “The blonde girl, Natalie, told me that she had the same scores on all of her big exams as her twin brother, but he got in to the uni they applied to and she didn’t. It wasn’t until she reapplied in the spring that she got in. Total crap, right?”

“It is,” Mycroft agrees, shocked by the passion he has right now. She just thought he’d talk to people, not get worked up over the female problems of the world.

But Lestrade doesn’t stop there. For six more blocks he rambles about the different women he talked to, all the problems they told him they have, and he mentions how he can’t believe that these things happen to women.

“I mean,” he finally says, “I guess I never realized how tough it is.”

“It is tough,” she tells him. “And it’s no different for any woman. It’s not like it’ll be harder for me to get the government job I want than it would be for a single mum to get a job at Tesco. All women across the board are treated the same.”

“Terrible.”

Mycroft nods in agreement.

Before she realizes it, they’re three buildings down from hers. The bar isn’t far from her home, but she has the habit of getting cabs instead of walking.

“Do your feet hurt?” he asks, peering down at her high shoes.

“Not really.”

“I can’t imagine wearing shoes like that all the time.”

“And I can’t imagine wearing flat shoes like yours all the time.”

Gregory shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“You can try wearing mine, if you want to see for yourself.”

Gregory laughs. “Walk a mile in your shoes? Sure. Hot girls talk to you more than they talk to me.”

Mycroft rolls her eyes. “It was a gay bar, Gregory.”

“Hey, not everyone was gay.”

Mycroft smiles. They finally get in front of her building, so she stops and turns to him.

“I had a really good time.”

“You know,” he replies, “So did I. I met a lot of interesting people. Maybe I’ll start thinking twice about not wanting to talk to anyone on campus.”

“Ooh, homework!” Mycroft grows a large smile. “Meet new people! By the end of the week, I want you to meet five people not in your social class.”

“At school?”

“Anywhere. Talk to people who actually carry books on campus. Talk to…people with glasses, I don’t know.”

“You wear glasses.”

“Yeah, but I—“

“And they’re quite fetching, too.”

Mycroft sighs. “Thanks.”

“I couldn’t let you go without paying you one direct compliment.”

“Though I do appreciate it, I don’t expect a compliment every time I speak to you. And by the way, ‘hot’ does not need to be the only adjective you use to describe women.”

Gregory bites his lip and looks thoughtful for a moment. Finally he looks like a lightbulb went off in his head and he looks at Mycroft.

“Leah has a very nice skin tone and her eye makeup was applied fantastically.”

Mycroft laughs. “Good, good. Next time, perhaps say that to her instead of staring at her chest when you think she isn’t looking.”

“She was doing that to you.”

Mycroft rubs her forehead and blushes. “God, do shut up. I’m going upstairs.”

“I’ll see you soon?”

“Perhaps.”

“Call me. We can get together again.”

Mycroft is about to turn around to leave him, but then she steps back to him and pulls him into a loose hug. She kisses his cheek in a friendly way, which he returns, then she lets him walk away as she goes up the steps.

Now, she thinks that spending an evening in Lestrade’s company won’t be so bad.


	3. Cleaning

The continuous banging on his door making Greg’s dream go from that of a pleasant river to a storming tsunami. All of a sudden he’s drowning, until he’s thrown by a wave and his head his the nightstand.

With an annoyed huff, he stands and marches over to the door.

“What?!” he yells, throwing the door open.

“Ah, happy to see me.”

Mycroft Holmes shouldn’t look so perfect when being annoying. It makes him no longer want to be upset with her.

Mycroft lifts an interested eyebrow and glances south on his body, and he realizes belatedly that answering the door upon first waking when you don’t wear pajamas is not the brightest idea.

Still, he notes that she doesn’t look repulsed.

“Hang on a tic,” he says, shutting the door on her face. He has to search for clean underpants (hidden under his bed).

Two minutes later, pants on and his morning erection wilting, he answers the door again.

Mycroft doesn’t look any less pleasant. She coolly enters the room and leans against the wall next to the door.

“How did you get in here?” he asks, referring to the flat itself.

“Waking Kendal up was far more entertaining than waking you up. What were you dreaming about? I heard shouting.”

“I was drowning, no thanks to you.”

“Was I there?” she asks.

“No, but before I was drowning, I was fishing.”

Mycroft laughs. “I don’t think I ever dream that specifically.”

“Fishing is specific to you? Specific is the color the water was and the way the trees swayed. Yes, I dream of all of that.”

“Interesting,” she says, as if it really does interest her; Greg wonders if this conversation will continue another time. Perhaps with scientists and sleep doctors.

She steps away from the wall to enter more into the dirty room. Now, Greg notices she’s holding a shopping bag.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Cleaning supplies.”

“Oh god.”

“I resisted buying you a vacuum in hopes that you already have one.”

Greg looks vague.

“No worries, I can get one.”

“Why must we do this? And so early?” Greg asks with a groan, going back to his bed. He throws himself down and snuggles his pillow. “I was going to sleep for a few more hours.”

“You have practice at ten and I want to finish before then.”

“How do you know my schedule?”

She gives him that look that says, ‘stop-asking-because-you-just-look-dumb’. He gets that look quite a bit.

Mycroft looks around the room. “Where to start…” she mutters to herself.

“Tell you what,” he says, closing his eyes. “You start however you want, and I’ll just…shut my eyes for a second.”

She is silent, he doesn’t even hear her stepping towards the bed. The mattress dips and the idea that she’s going to be in his bed while he is also in his bed makes him grin.

That is, until Mycroft stands on the mattress and digs the heel of her shoe into his lower back.

“Ow! God, get off!”

She pushes harder; he squirms to get away.

“Get up,” Mycroft demands.

“Fine, fine!”

Greg tries to squirm away again, and right then she lifts her foot. He thrashes so hard that he flings himself off the bed with a shout.

From her spot still standing on his bed, she smiles down at him. “I think we can start down there.”

It takes them an hour (they pause for breakfast) to tidy up the floor, meaning the trash out and the laundry in the baskets she bought. When finishes, they take a trip down to the building’s laundry room so she can show him how to use a washing machine.

“Part of me doesn’t believe you’ve ever done your own washing,” Greg comments as Mycroft fills the soap tray with detergent.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. You look like you have servants and maids.”

“I did at home. Well, not servants and maids. My brother and I had a nanny and a housekeeper, and together they were in charge of cleaning up after us. By the time I was a teen and no longer needed a nanny, I let the housekeeper go and took care of Sherlock’s chores such as laundry and cooking for him and my dad most of the time.”

“What did his nanny do?”

“Made sure Sherlock didn’t blow anything up.”

Greg laughs. “I didn’t even know you have a brother.”

“Unfortunately. His name is Sherlock and he’s just turned 18.”

“I don’t have any siblings.”

“I know.”

Greg doesn’t ask how, or accuse her of not really knowing. She probably does. She probably knows his blood type and his GPA, too.

“There,” Mycroft says, finishing with the soap. “It’s really not hard. Think you can manage in the future?”

“I think so,” he says, instead of offering some sarcastic retort. “Though I do enjoy our time together in this stinky laundry room.”

Mycroft laughs. “Perhaps we can relocate. Ready to take on your closet?”

Greg groans, then follows Mycroft out of the room.

The closet takes almost an hour, as Greg expected. She bags dusty clothes that he never wears to take to a homeless shelter, along with shoes that are still in decent shape and anything else he doesn’t use. The rest is trash, and in the end there’s more space for things in his closet than in his actual bedroom.

After teaching him the proper chemicals to use in the loo, she takes him shopping for a vacuum. He chooses an inexpensive one, but she decides he needs something heavy-duty and reliable. Greg lets his pride down and allows her to pay, for she’s undoubtedly already aware of his financial situation anyway.

Altogether, is bedroom is clean and vacuumed and his laundry is put away by nine o’clock, half an hour before he needs to leave for football.

“I admit,” Greg says, sitting down on the new duvet she bought. “It looks better in here than it did when I moved in.”

“That’s not surprising,” Mycroft says, joining him.

“I like this duvet.” He rubs a hand over the soft fabric.

“It’s nice,” she agrees.

He slowly and inconspicuously slides his hand over to where hers is resting on the bed. With the tip of his pinky, he touches her hand.

Mycroft doesn’t immediately pull her hand away, and Greg takes that as a good sign.

“You know,” he tells her, “I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you the past few weeks.”

“It has been fun,” Mycroft says, staring down at his hand creeping its way onto hers. “There is one other thing I think you should do.” Her voice is soft, unlike anything he’s ever heard from her before. She sounds…sweet, or innocent. Like what she’s about to say will please him.

“Yes?”

“Get a full health exam and STD tests.”

Greg knew the sweet voice was an act. With a manic laugh, he pulls his hand away and stands up. “Unbelievable. Why?”

“Because you’ll feel better once you know you’re completely healthy. Do you think there’s anything to worry about?”

“I…” he suddenly fears that he doesn’t know the answer to that question. As he can recall, he’s always used a condom, at least for vaginal penetration. But that doesn’t mean he’s been safe from everything all this time.

“Look. You’ll just feel better once tested and proven to be clean. Trust me. I take tests at least once a year whether I’ve been sexually active or not. It just helps. And, if you do have something, it’d be wise to know before pursuing a sexual relationship with…” she diverts her eyes to instead study the wall just behind Greg’s head. “Anyone.”

To Greg, that  _anyone_  had a  _someone_ behind it, but he chooses not to comment.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Okay. I’ll go to the doctor this week.”

“Great,” she says, standing up and stepping to him. “It really looks great in here. Don’t you feel better now that you can actually see the floor?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess.”

Mycroft doesn’t say anything, but seconds later, her hand is at the back of his head reeling him in for a slow kiss. He sighs in surprise out his nose, and she wraps both arms around his neck and kisses him deeper.

With her shoes being so high, they’re the same height, and Greg finds that he loves kissing her. Sure, they’ve kissed once before, a long time ago, but this feels different. This feels like she doesn’t feel sorry for him, or that she doesn’t hate him, and they fit together perfectly. His arms wrap around her waist and he holds her close, never intending to let go.

“Look-y here,” a voice says from the door.

Greg twists his face away to find Kendal leaning against the doorframe. He glares at his friend. Mycroft embarrassedly buries her face in Greg’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Kendal adds, “If you wanted privacy, don’t snog with the door wide open. Just be lucky I didn’t think to snap a photo.”

Kendal laughs as he walks away from the door, and Greg doesn’t look at Mycroft again until they hear the other bedroom door shut.

“Sorry,” Greg says.

Mycroft pulls away fully. “I should go,” she says, sounding distant for a moment. She gathers her things and walks to the door.

“But I—“ Greg wants to stop her, wants to beg her not to go. But he can’t.

“You’ve got to go,” Mycroft reminds him, sounding more like herself; like that kiss was a momentarily lapse of judgement that wasn’t even her but someone else occupying her body instead.

Greg checks his watch. “Bugger. I’m going to be late.”

“I’ll give you a lift.”

Greg gathers the things he needs for his practice, then follows her out of the flat and downstairs to a waiting car.

They’re silent for most of the ride. Greg stares out the window and tries to think of something to say, anything to show her that he doesn’t really expect anything more than just a friendship with her.

Finally, he settles on, “I didn’t fuck everything up by kissing you just now?”

“I kissed you,” she reminds him.

“Yeah, but I feel like—“

She looks at him, her eyes piercing him powerfully. “If I didn’t wish to kiss you, I wouldn’t have.”

Her words slowly sink in until Greg is grinning ear to ear.

“You want to kiss me,” he teases.

“Not anymore,” she says, but Greg can see a smile forming on her lips.

Minutes later, they’re at his practice facility.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, opening his door.

“You’re welcome.”

He’s about to get out before he remembers his predilection for complimenting her every time they meet. He didn’t prepare a compliment, so instead he leans over and kisses her cheek. She smiles.

“And thanks so much for everything this morning. Especially the vacuum. And for not laughing at my naked willy.”

She laughs. “You’re welcome.”

With that, he hops out of the car. He trots excitedly to the entrance of the building, a slight blush on his cheeks from remembering the scandalous kiss. Greg really hopes there’s more of that in the future.


	4. Thinking Realistically

**From Gregory Lestrade:** Hailey’s boyfriend punched his ex, so I told Hailey to dump him. Yes or no?

 **To Gregory Lestrade:** Definitely a yes! Who is Hailey?

* * *

 

 **From Gregory Lestrade:** River used to be Makayla. He’s cute.

 **To Gregory Lestrade:**  Get his number for me?

* * *

 

 **From Gregory Lestrade:**  Hunter is a girl’s name. I repeat, Hunter is a girl’s name. She is not and has she ever been a boy.

 **To Gregory Lestrade:**  Oh my god, what did you SAY?

* * *

 

Weeks after his room cleaning, and many texts about the interesting people he’s met, Greg finds himself sitting across the table from Mycroft, and she looks terribly pleased.

“I admit, talking to people I wouldn’t have ever thought to look at has been fun.”

“I knew it would be. I like talking to people.”

“Do you? I would have never thought. You hate talking to me.”

“Because our conversations were centered on how angry you were that I wouldn’t have sex with you.”

“Wouldn’t?” Greg mutters. “That sounds promising.”

Mycroft rolls her eyes. Greg grins.

“Anyway,” Greg says, “I invited some people over for a little party tonight. Both old and new friends. Do you want to come?”

“Sure,” Mycroft replies. “I want to meet this River.”

Greg laughs. “Now I’ll keep you away from him.”

Greg watches her admiringly as she smiles down at her plate and sweeps auburn hair out of her eyes. He likes when she wears her long hair down because he likes this gesture, the embarrassed hair twirling and tucking it neatly behind her ear. He knows she does this when she doesn’t know what to say. Usually she’d say something about liking to make him jealous, or point out at all that he’s acting like an animal, but she says nothing.

“Well,” she finally says, “I can find time to make an appearance at your party.”

“Great.”

When they finish their meal, Mycroft pays (which isn’t  _that_  fine to Greg but she had to buy him a vacuum so he’s pretty much over being embarrassed by his financial troubles), then they walk out onto the busy street outside the restaurant.

“I have to get back to my office,” Mycroft says, motioning in the direction behind her.

“Oh? I didn’t know you have an office.”

“Yeah, it’s—“ she pauses, and Greg realizes she doesn’t wish to speak any further about it.

“Alright,” he says instead. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Mycroft nods, then Greg leans in to take her into one of their usual (now) hugs.

What he doesn’t anticipate is accidentally kissing her.

Even more than that, he doesn’t even realize he’s kissed her until he’s two blocks away from the restaurant.

He calls her immediately.

“Yes?” she answers nonchalantly.

“I just kissed you.”

“Oh good, you had noticed.”

“And you didn’t…slap me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because—“

“I just got a manicure.”

Greg rubs a hand over his face. She doesn’t sound angry or repulsed. She doesn’t even sound surprised.

“You’re not upset?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Oh god,” he mutters, “And it was bad, too.”

Mycroft chuckles on the other end. “Goodbye, Lestrade.”

She hangs up before he can say anything, as she usually does.

For the rest of the afternoon, he wears a blush on his cheeks from the embarrassment of kissing Mycroft Holmes and not being fully aware of doing so.

* * *

 

Mycroft does meet many people at Lestrade’s get together, including five people he’d met just that week. She is impressed by his friendly nature, and how every person had something nice to say about it. And she’s pleased by the different types of people he befriended; none were of the same race or sexuality or gender. They were all the types of people she hoped he would be nice to from the start.

With an early start on a day packed with government-official meetings, she leaves before the party ends. And she leaves without saying goodbye to Gregory, which leaves her feeling as though she forgot something at his flat. It’s not until she gets home that she realizes what it was.

* * *

 

On Mycroft’s agenda for the next step to help Lestrade be a better man, it is to help him decide a future. Though she’s never seen him play football, the chances of becoming a professional athlete are less than 2%. The odds that he is in that 2% is probably far less than that.

She hates to be the one to have to shatter his dreams, but she wants him to begin thinking realistically.

She brings it up one night while at his flat. Mycroft had a agreed to help him with a biology quiz, so he asked her to stay with him all night if need be.

Mycroft can’t think of a better time to bring it up than when doing schoolwork. So, like ripping off a bandage, she says it when it comes to mind.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Gregory laughs. “I am grown up.”

“No, I mean…a career. What do you want to do?”

“I want to play football.”

“And you think that’s realistic?”

He shrugs. “Why can’t it be?”

“There’s a 98% chance it won’t be.”

Gregory frowns. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“I can’t judge, I’ve never seen you play. But it’s more than likely not going to happen, and you need to be prepared for when university is over.”

He scrubs a hand over his face and stands from his desk. “Geez, remind me never to get bad news while you’re around.”

“I’m sorry, Lestrade. I only wish to help.”

“And telling me my dream isn’t good enough isn’t helping. This is all I’ve ever wanted to do, since I was a kid. Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Yes. I’ve always wanted to be Prime Minister.”

“And that’s realistic?”

“Given the fact that I’m studying politics and government, yes. It is.”

“There aren’t classes for football.”

“No, which is why you should study for something.”

Gregory throws himself down on the bed next to her. “I just…” he says, staring at his hands. “I always thought I’d have time, you know? I turned sixteen and everyone was starting to figure shit out. I turned eighteen and everyone was going to uni for something real, whereas I was going to play football. And now I’m twenty-two and…I have nowhere to go.”

“So think of something, Gregory. Think of something you want to do. And I’m willing to help you make it happen.”

Gregory sighs. He reaches over and grabs her hand, no nonsense this time; just holding her hand to comfort himself. She lets him.

“Thank you,” he says.

Mycroft doesn’t realize how tired she is until they’re silent for a few minutes. She focuses on the sound of his breathing, on the feel of his hand on hers. She yawns and her eyes feel heavy.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing again. “I should have let you go hours ago.”

“No, no. I agreed to help, help is what you’re going to get.”

“Here,” he says, going to a dresser drawer and pulling out a worn t-shirt. It’s got a football logo on the front and ‘Lestrade’ printed across the back, with the number 9 underneath. “At least get comfortable. I mean, you don’t have to, but I’m going to put pajama pants on. I have another pair if you’d like, I’ve never even worn them.”

She smiles at his obvious nervousness. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Ten minutes later, they’re both changed and comfortable and trying to adjust on his bed. Gregory opts to sit against the headboard, so Mycroft rests her head on his soft pillow and thinks of questions to quiz him on.

Five questions in and her eyes begin to droop. Another question later, her speech slurs. The question after that, she falls asleep to the sound of his voice talking about chemical reactions.

* * *

When Mycroft wakes the next morning, she is immediately confused. It takes her a minute to remember she’s in Lestrade’s flat, and another minute to be thankful she’s wearing clothes. She feels around for her phone (finding it under the duvet next to her thigh), and finds that it’s barely six in the morning.

Mycroft gets herself out of the bed and changes her pants, leaving Lestrade’s pajama bottoms folded on his bed. The shirt, however, she takes, feeling warm and cleaner than wearing yesterday’s shirt in it.

She exits his bedroom as quietly as she can. When she gets to the small sitting room, she pauses at the sight of Gregory sleeping squished on the tiny sofa occupying one corner of the room. She smiles happily to herself, then lets herself out of the flat to go home.


	5. Watching Football

Mycroft has never done anything she didn’t want to do. Especially for a boy. She’s never gone out with a boy because he asked, she’s never done anything more than kiss him if she didn’t absolutely want to. Not that she’s dated much, but the one long relationship she has had, she didn’t even meet his parents because she didn’t want to.

 

So why she’s finding her way to an empty seat at the football stadium where Lestrade plays is beyond her.

Trying to prove to her that he could make a career of this, Gregory invited her to one of his matches. Over much argument, she finally agreed, only to get him to shut up. In truth, she doesn’t really mind doing something like this for Lestrade, not  _that_  much. It’s just that she hates football.

 

At least she’s dragged Emily, her closest friend, along.

 

“I never thought I’d live to see the day where you attend a football match,” Emily comments as they sit close enough to the pitch that Mycroft can actually make out Gregory’s face instead of having to rely on the giant number printed on his back.

 

“The things we do for love,” Emily adds.

 

“Shut up,” Mycroft icily replies. Since it's unseasonably warm, Mycroft peels her long black coat off. Underneath, she’s got on a regular t-shirt and jeans.

 

“Oh my god,” Emily comments. “You LOVE him!”

 

“What?!”

 

Emily tweaks the sleeve of her t-shirt, and Mycroft realizes belatedly that she made a quick decision to wear the t-shirt of Lestrade’s that she kept the night she fell asleep at his flat. The one with ‘Lestrade’ printed across the back.

 

Mycroft blushes. “It was appropriate to wear.”

 

“That is true, but that doesn’t mean you had to wear it. You just wanted to wear his shirt.”

 

Mycroft absentmindedly strokes the soft fabric and watches as the team makes their way onto the field. Emily playfully nudges Mycroft and she cracks a smile.

 

“I still don’t love him.”

 

“Fine,” Emily concedes. “But how about you consider telling him that you at least have feelings for him?”

 

Lestrade spots the two out of place girls in the crowd immediately. He waves excitedly, which Emily returns, but Mycroft waves slowly while trying not to smile too widely. 

 

The game begins and Mycroft immediately regrets it. Not only is she completely lost, but she is bored and everyone around her begins to shout.

 

One thing she notices is they shout at Gregory a lot. As far as she can tell, he’s doing well. He kicks the ball when passed to him and has not done anything obviously wrong. She wonders why everyone is yelling at him.

 

She decides to voice her concerns. “Why is everyone shouting at Gregory? I don’t understand what he’s doing wrong.”

 

Luckily, Emily knows a tiny bit more about football than Mycroft does. “He’s supposed to kick the ball into the net for a goal. And apparently everyone’s upset that he hasn’t.”

 

“Neither has the other team,” Mycroft points out. “Surely that’s good, right?”

 

“Well, yeah. But if our team hasn’t scored either, that’s still not that good for us.”

 

“Oh. So they want him to score.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So does that mean he’s…bad?”

 

Emily shrugs and turns to the man next to her. “Excuse me, sir. Do you happen to know how many goals Lestrade has scored this season?”

 

“Let’s see…” the man says, tapping his chin in thought. “Last I knew he was averaging one every game, or at least an assist every game.”

 

“And that’s good?”

 

“Yeah. Lately he hasn’t been doing very well, though. His knee was hurting a few weeks ago, but since he’s began to start again, he hasn’t played his best.”

 

Emily thanks the man and turns back to Mycroft.

 

“Poor Greg,” Emily says. “Maybe he’s lovesick.”

 

Mycroft bites her lip, wondering, no matter how absurd it sounds, if Gregory is all off because of her.

 

By the end of the first half, neither team has scored. Gregory follows his team under the stands to where they came from at the start of the match, and Mycroft asks if it’s over.

 

“Nope,” Emily cheerily says. “Forty-five more minutes.”

 

Mycroft groans.

 

“Are you going to make him do something you enjoy after this?”

 

“We already argue enough as is.”

 

Emily laughs. “That is your favorite past time.”

 

Mycroft smiles. “I don’t know. What else do I enjoy like he enjoys this?”

 

“You enjoy drinking scotch and yelling at your brother.”

 

“I don’t think he likes scotch. Yelling at my brother, though—“

 

Mycroft is cut off by a small group of girls making their way over to her and sitting down.

 

“Excuse me,” the lead girl says. “Where did you get your shirt?”

 

Mycroft touches the shirt protectively. “I…uhm…from a friend.”

 

“Your friend…what, has Greg Lestrade shirts or something?”

 

Mycroft thinks literally for a moment. “His entire wardrobe is Lestrade’s—“

 

Emily intervenes, because clearly Mycroft doesn’t understand. “Greg is her boyfriend.”

 

Mycroft blushes. “No, he’s—“

 

“Oh my god!” one of the other girls squeals, but not excitedly. “I didn’t know he has a girlfriend!”

 

“Well,” Mycroft tries to correct her. “He really doesn’t—“

 

“We’ve never seen you here before,” another girl says. “We come to all of the matches. This is your first.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t really like football.”

 

The girls look scandalized.

 

“Then why date a football player?” a third girl asks.

 

Mycroft doesn’t know what to say. She realizes they’re all jealous, they probably have huge crushes on Lestrade, and they look ready to fight her. “I—“

 

“You don’t look like you belong here or anywhere near him,” the first girl says.

 

Now Mycroft is annoyed. “You girls don’t even know him.”

 

“We know he’d never date a girl who knew nothing about something he loves so much.”

 

“Well,” Mycroft retorts, “Clearly you don’t know him at all then. But I’ll be sure to tell him you’re all fans.”

 

With a huff, the girls get up and stomp away. Emily lets out the laughter she was holding in.

 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Mycroft asks out loud.

 

“That was hilarious is what it was.”

 

Mycroft joins her laughter.

 

The second half begins minutes later, and this time Gregory looks better than in the first half. Mycroft sees how he was doing poorly at the start, because now he’s getting the ball closer and closer to the net each time he gets the ball. She notices black tape strapped to his knee, so she understands he must have been in pain before.

 

Gregory almost scores twice, but both times the goalie (she learned that term during the match) stopped the ball before it hit the net. Gregory looks disappointed at himself, and Mycroft begins to think of ways to help him feel better after the match.

 

When the match finally does end, Gregory’s team walks over to where the fans are seated and they begin shaking hands and high-fiving people. Emily drags Mycroft down to where Gregory is talking to a few people, and they stop a few feet away from the girls they met earlier.

 

He chats with the people for a few minutes about the match and the upcoming matches, telling them he’ll try better next time. He talks to the people like he knows them, and it pleases Mycroft to see him being so friendly, as it always does. After he finishes with the fans who are actually talking about football, he steps over to the girls to say hello to them. Mycroft watches, surprised by how not annoyed she is. In a second, Gregory will go to her and she will be the only one to hold his attention.

 

Mycroft doesn’t even want to think about how much that pleases her.

 

When he finally does, she smiles. Emily nudges her knowingly.

 

“Shut up,” Mycroft mutters to her.

 

Since the pitch is at a lower level than the stands, Mycroft has to lean over the railing and Gregory has to reach up for their hands to touch.

 

“I’m really glad you can make it, even though we didn’t win,” he says in greeting.

 

“I wouldn’t have known any difference had you won,” she tells him.

 

He laughs. “What’d you think?”

 

Mycroft shrugs. “It was alright.”

 

“I liked it,” Emily tells him.

 

“Well great,” Gregory says. “Drag Mycroft here from now on, will you?”

 

“Sure,” Emily says with a wide grin.

 

Mycroft glares at her, but she only looks at Emily a second before he looks back at Lestrade because she feels him press a kiss to the palm of her hand.

 

“Not too much affection,” Emily mutters to her, “We might be jumped on the way to our car.”

 

“What?” Gregory asks.

 

Mycroft shakes her head, chuckling. “I’ll tell you later. What do we do now?”

 

“I go shower because I smell like a gym bag. Want to meet for dinner?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“It’s a date!” Emily cries.

 

Gregory smiles and Mycroft blushes up to her ears.

 

“Let’s go,” Mycroft says, hooking her arm in Emily’s and dragging her away as she waves goodbye to Lestrade.

* * *

 

 

“So, what did you learn today?”

 

“Well,” Mycroft says, “I learned that you suck, according to the very passionate fans that were sitting near me. I learned that you have small following of females who feel very possessive of you. I learned that matches last ninety minutes. And I learned that I still don’t really like it.”

 

Gregory laughs. “Everyone near you said I suck?”

 

“That’s what they were shouting at you when you wouldn’t kick the ball into the net.”

 

He still laughs. “I expect they would. Nobody likes losing.”

 

“And yet you seem fine.”

 

“I’m just glad I saw you there.”

 

Mycroft smiles. “They did say you were doing very well and you aren’t recently. Is something bothering you?”

 

“Other than my shit knee, no. Nothing is bothering me.”

 

Mycroft almost sighs relief. “Oh. Good.”

 

“And as for the girls,” Gregory says. “Were they rude to you?”

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t handle them.”

 

Mycroft shrugs. “I can’t imagine feeling possessive of someone I’ve never met. Or, at least, someone I’m not actually dating.”

 

“You’ve never had a celebrity crush?”

 

Mycroft shakes her head. “I suppose I’ve found celebrities attractive, but never enough to feel a sense of ownership of them. Those girls acted like they knew you. They said you wouldn’t date anyone who didn’t love something you love as much as football.”

 

Gregory distractedly twirls his drink.

 

“Is that a big problem for you? That I don’t like football?”

 

“I’m sure there are things you like that I don’t like.”

 

“Point taken.”

 

“So we’ll move past it. You don’t have to go to any more matches if you don’t want to.”

 

“Honestly, I want to go to another just to drive those girls mad.”

 

Gregory laughs. “Shameless.”

 

Mycroft just smiles.

 

After dinner, Gregory walks her home as usual.

 

“Thanks again for coming,” he says.

 

“I’ll think about next time,” Mycroft replies. “If I’m not busy.”

 

Gregory just happily smiles. She really can’t resist kissing him, and she doesn’t know why. All he is doing is standing in front of her looking maddeningly pleasant (a term she’s never used to describe him), so she leans up and kissing him lightly.

 

After long minutes of a deep, wet kiss on her building’s front steps, he pulls back with a smack that makes Mycroft want to dive back in and reclaim those lips.

 

“I could come up if you want,” he whispers, his eyes heavy lidded and his hands clutching her tight.

 

Mycroft can think on the spot, though, and she remembers that his tests still haven’t come back and for her own piece of mind, she needs to see those results.

 

“Not tonight,” she tells him, pressing her forehead against his.

 

Gregory gently bites her lip. “Raincheck?”

 

Mycroft grins. She wants to tease him, promise him nothing. “I don’t give out rainchecks for my bed.”

 

Gregory chuckles. “Fair enough.” He pulls away, and she does all she can to not reach out for him again, wondering the entire time what it is that’s making her want him now.

 

“I’ll call you,” he adds.

 

Mycroft fishes her keys out of her purse, then gives him a last parting kiss.

 

“ _I’ll_  call  _you_ ,” she corrects, unlocking the building’s door and entering without anything more. 


	6. Dinner Party

With her impending promotion and schoolwork keeping her so busy, Mycroft loses track of time and doesn’t contact Lestrade for weeks. In that time, it’s not that she forgets about him, it’s just that there are far more important things on her plate than her not-a-relationship with a guy she doesn’t even want to admit she has feelings for. And it’s not as though he’s contacted her, either.

It’s two weeks after the football match and Mycroft receives an invitation to a dinner party held by her friend Troy. Troy’s family is full of wealth, his father is a politician, so Mycroft always makes it a point to attend any gathering of Troy’s to which she is invited.

It’s a day before the party when she realizes she needs a date.

She finally phones Lestrade. And he doesn’t answer.

Full of the anxiety she’s always had, she immediately wonders if she’s messed it all up with him. Mycroft did mean to call, but she became quickly busy and didn’t have time to worry about it. She wonders if Gregory never wants to see her again, she wonders if the football game will be the last she sees of him.

Mere minutes later, he calls back. Her anxiety momentarily takes a back seat while she shakily answers.

“H-hello?”

“Geez, you okay?”

Mycroft clears her throat. “Sorry. I was…yawning.”

“Oh,” he says. “What’s up?”

It’s so casually, as if they haven’t had their tongues in each other’s mouths. It’s more casual than when they spoke before all of this started. It makes Mycroft’s stomach turn in an unpleasant way.

“I was…” she mutters, then clears her throat again because faking confidence is something she’s been good at since she was twelve. “I was wondering if you’d like to attend Troy Smyer’s dinner party with me.”

“Oh…shit, really?”

Mycroft’s stomach flips again. “Yes. Why?”

“I was invited, too. Troy’s a big fan of our team. I, uhm…I didn’t know you’d still want to see me, I already got a date.”

Mycroft frowns. “Oh. That’s…not a problem.”

“I can canc—“

“No, no. It’s really fine, I’ll see you there.”

“Kay…” he says. “Sorry, Holmes.”

“It’s fine,” Mycroft says again, even though her stomach is burning. She thinks to herself that she’ll allow herself five minutes to be upset by this, then she’s got to move on. And she wants to start the five minutes as soon as possible.

“I’ve got to go,” she says. “See you at the party.”

“Yeah, see you.”

She hangs up quickly, then takes a deep breath and lays her head on the kitchen island where she’s standing.

* * *

 

Luckily, Mycroft has many male friends who would jump at the opportunity to attend a party at the home of such an esteemed politician as Troy’s dad. The first call she makes is a success, no matter how short of notice it is.

She chooses Devlin Wrong, a friend she’s had since primary school. He’s a handsome aspiring politician who she briefly dated when they re-met at university last year, but since then the spark has fizzled out.

That, and Devlin was caught making out with Sherlock when she took him to re-meet her father.

She has time to dress shop in the morning before the party, so she chooses a lovely black gown that hugs her curves and accentuates her body perfectly. She wears her hair down in waves, and chooses a light red lipstick to match. She loves wearing red lipstick on any occasion she can, anyway.

Devlin picks Mycroft up in a fancy black car. He has flowers, so she asks him inside to put them in water. He is polite and sweet even though looking for a vase, cutting the flowers—which she needed to do before they left—and putting them in water takes fifteen minutes so they are off schedule and late to the party.

They are fashionably late. Devlin takes her coat and takes it to be checked like a gentleman, and it’s only three minutes of wandering to the bar alone before Lestrade finds her.

“Wow Holmes,” he says behind her.

She swallows all emotion she has and turns around.

“Lestrade. I see you are wearing a tux.”

“Observant as ever,” he says, stepping up to the bar and ordering her a scotch and himself a whiskey.

Their exchange is…different. Like it was before, when Mycroft didn’t want him around. Only now she does want him around but he’s still acting like his old self; overly confident, overly flirtatious, and overly old-Lestrade.

“Where is your date?” Mycroft asks.

He waves a hand. “Oh, she found friends. How girls are.”

“I see.”

“Yours?”

“He took my coat.”

“Ahh,” Lestrade mutters. “That’s nice of him.”

“Yes,” Mycroft agrees.

They’re silent for another minute, which is unnatural for them. Usually, in the past, they’d at least be talking nonstop, whether it be bickering or not. But now they silently and uncomfortably sip their drinks.

Finally, thankfully, Devlin finds them.

“Gregory, this is Devlin. Devlin, Gregory.”

“Pleasure,” Lestrade says, shaking his hand.

Devlin smiles and shakes back, then asks Lestrade a few polite questons before spotting someone away from them.

“Oh, Mycroft, you’ve got to meet Sohia. Excuse us, Gregory.”

Mycroft lets herself be dragged from the bar, because anywhere is better than the uncomfortable setting with a Lestrade she isn’t sure she can claim to know anymore.

After meeting people after people and feeling exhausted by it, Mycroft excuses herself to the bar once again. And there is Gregory still, or again, and she approaches him.

 _Confidence_ , she reminds herself, because after a while of faking it, it becomes natural. If anything, she reminds herself that if things are back to the way it was before they began _whatever_  it was they were doing, she can at least act like that Mycroft did.

"How is Mr. Right?" Lestrade asks as Mycroft gets to the bar.  
  
Mycroft chuckles. "Ironically, his last name is Wrong."  
  
Gregory leans back on the bar as she sits on a stool. "You're joking."  
  
"Devlin Wrong. Unfortunate for a future politician."  
  
Gregory laughs. "His campaign slogan could be, 'It's right to vote Wrong.'"  
  
"I quite like, 'There's no wrong way to vote Wrong.'"  
  
"Double negative, clever."  
  
Mycroft grins and takes a sip of the drink that was quickly procured for her.  
  
"So, have you slept with him?" Lestrade asks, as Mycroft expected he would. The old Lestrade would have.  
  
"I do believe that is none of your business."  
  
"He looks like your type."  
  
"I don't think you know what my type is."  
  
"He doesn't seem to be sexist, he looks clean, his IQ has to be as high as yours, and he doesn't look like a footballer."  
  
Mycroft laughs.  
  
"Basically," Lestrade continues, "He is nothing like me. So I can assume you've slept with him. Or you plan to."  
  
"As usual, you are missing something. But that's still none of your business."  
  
"Then you haven't slept with him. Yet."

Mycroft coyly shrugs.

“There’s my date,” Lestrade says, nodding towards a group of girls. “The blonde.”

Mycroft spots her immediately, and she is what she’d expect Lestrade to date. Looks like a supermodel, is, in terms,  _sexy_. Everything Mycroft has never thought herself to be. She tries not to let that little thought get to her.

“Where did you find her and how did you get her to go on a date with you?”

“At a bar. I asked if she owned a nice dress, she said yes. Here we are.”

Mycroft can give Greg back his own, so with a smirk she says, “And I assume you haven’t slept with her either?”

She prepared herself in seconds for the diverted gaze and slight blush on his cheeks.

“Great,” she says. “Glad to know things are back to normal.”

“You didn’t call.”

“And you did?”

“I didn’t know I was allowed to. Or supposed to.”

“But being allowed to sleep with someone else is alright?”

“I didn’t know I  _wasn’t_  supposed to.”

She rolls her eyes. “You have some nerve being jealous of my date and I when—“

The doors to the dining room open and Mycroft notices Devlin making his way towards the entrance.  
  
Mycroft stands from the bar, then says, "I am going to let you believe that I plan to sleep with him later tonight because it's going to drive you absolutely mad."  
  
As she's about to walk away, Lestrade's date arrives.  
  
"Ah, Jessica, this is Mycroft Holmes."  
  
Jessica politely holds a hand out to shake Mycroft's. "Ms. Holmes, I've heard so much about you."  
  
"Please, just Mycroft," she replies, taking Jessica's hand. Then, with a quick glance at Lestrade, she adds, "And I'm sorry."  
  
Mycroft turns and walks away quickly, but not before she overhears Jessica asking Lestrade what she meant.  
  
When she gets back to Devlin, she slips an arm through the crook of his elbow and leans up to whisper in his ear, telling him something to make him laugh. She can practically feel Lestrade's gaze piercing her skin; she knows that little act just now is going to drive him crazy.  
  


* * *

 

For dinner, Mycroft and Delvin are seated directly across from Lestrade and Jessica. It isn't a large table, by extended their arms Lestrade and Mycroft could touch fingertips. Being in such close proximity makes Mycroft smile, she can drive Lestrade up the wall all night.  
  
"Good evening again, Gregory," Delvin says as he pulls Mycroft's chair out.  
  
"Likewise," Gregory mutters, doing the same for Jessica as an after thought.  
  
Once everyone is seated, the salads are served, and conversation goes on along the table. Which means, of course, that Lestrade has to grill Mycroft's date with a million questions.  
  
"What do you do?" "Where did you go to school?" "How did you meet Mycroft?" "Do you have any hobbies?" "Where did you grow up?" "Are you aware that your last name is unfortunate for a future politician?" Are all asked by Lestrade. He even manages to ask Devlin if he has a criminal record.  
  
By the time dessert is served, Mycroft can tell Lestrade is losing his mind. He finally stops talking to them and chooses now to ignore his date by talking to their friend Charlie next to him. But Mycroft quickly notices that he's awkwardly shifting and twitching in his seat. Just little movements, like his leg is moving.  
  
She looks at Devlin, who has begun to do the same. He is shifting slightly, almost like he's kicking at something.  
  
The realization that Lestrade is probably stroking Devlin's leg thinking that it's hers makes her choke on the wine she'd just sipped. She laughs so hard it nearly comes out of her nose.  
  
Devlin quickly pats her back and offers her a napkin.  
  
"Are you alright?" he sweetly asks.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Just went down the wrong pipe, I think."  
  
He smiles at her and offers her a drink of water, which she has to deny because thinking about what she's just discovered makes her laugh again.

* * *

  
  
When everyone is ready to leave, Devlin offers to retrieve her coat while she waits. And of course, Lestrade finds her.  
  
"Where is Jessica?" Mycroft asks as he approaches.  
  
"Oh, she left. She is very upset with me."  
  
"As she should be. You ignored her and played footsie with my date all evening."  
  
Lestrade pauses; Mycroft can practically hear his heart stop. "What?"  
  
Mycroft smirks. "I wasn't going to tell you but I didn't want you to think it was me you had your foot tangled with all night."  
  
Lestrade rubs a hand over his face. "Oh my god."  
  
"And with all those questions you had to ask. When will your next date be?"  
  
"You should have told me."  
  
"And ruin this?"  
  
"So...he's gay?"  
  
"Of course he's gay, Lestrade. One real look at him and you'd know."  
  
"I was a bit distracted at the thought of him..."  
  
"What? In bed with me later?"  
  
"No. With the thought of him being here with you at all."  
  
Mycroft sighs. "I'm not your girlfriend, Lestrade. And I wasn’t before."  
  
"I know."  
  
Mycroft looks around for Devlin, but he's nowhere to be seen. As she's about to excuse herself to find him, she feels Lestrade's hand slip into hers.  
  
"Come home with me," he asks. Begs, really.  
  
Mycroft is so shocked that she doesn’t answer right away. She thought whatever they had was over. And now that it might not be over, she doesn’t want to jump in too quickly. They need to talk about it. So finally, she says no in her tone that will hear no argument.  
  
"Why not? Your date is gay."  
  
"Surprisingly, I didn't bring him here just to sleep with him later, as you did with Jessica. Who you completely cocked it up with. That was rude and unfair for her, Lestrade."  
  
"So you're upset that I messed it up with another girl?"  
  
Mycroft takes her hand away from his. "I'm upset because I care more about the way my fellow woman is treated. You can't act the way you did tonight, Lestrade."  
  
"I wouldn't do that to you."  
  
"You have. And I don't like it. Jessica has every right to be upset with you. I'm not going home with you just because you treated me better than you treated your date."  
  
"I can't win with you."  
  
"Just use your brain, Lestrade. Be bloody nice like you…were."  
  
Lestrade is silent for a moment, then he steps closer to Mycroft and speaks so low that only she can hear him.  
  
"You look beautiful tonight. And I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."  
  
With that, he leaves. Mycroft watches as he's about to walk out the door until someone gets his attention and he stops. That's when Devlin comes into Mycroft's view and walks up to Lestrade. Devlin takes a slip out of his pocket and hands it to Lestrade, then Lestrade thanks him and shuffles off quickly. Mycroft can't hold her laughter in. She laughs until Devlin returns with her coat; she laughs until Devlin's car stops in front of her building.

She laughs after Devlin's said goodnight and kisses her cheek.


	7. Quiz Night

Greg decides to amend the colossal fuck-up he made the very next day. After Mycroft didn't call for two days, he thought she was teasing him, making him wait for her. After she didn't call for a week, he thought she was extremely busy. After she didn't call for two weeks, he thought she was over him.

She's never said anything about her feelings before, so Greg still has no idea how she feels about him, but after the way her eyes darted hurtfully away from him last night when she figured out that he'd slept with his date already, he realized quickly that she was upset about it. Hence, the mending of the colossal fuck-up.

Greg wants to take her on a date, a proper date, but he doesn't want to put too much pressure on her. He doesn't want his advances to be taken as anything more than she may want.

Right as he's trying to figure out a plan, his phone begins to ring. He picks it up eagerly, hoping that it's Mycroft, but it's his roommate Kendal.

"'Lo?" Greg answers.

"Mate," Kendal says, "Quiz night tonight. You in?"

Greg never misses a pub quiz night. They're usually on Sundays and he enjoys them because Sundays also have specials on beers at the pub they go to. But, he really wants to see Mycroft tonight.

"Greggy?" Kendal asks over the line.

Greg makes a quick decision and decides that taking Mycroft to a pub quiz is the perfect date/non-date he may be looking for. It's fun, it's simple, there will be many people there, and he'll get to enjoy two things he likes at once.

"Yeah," Greg answers. "I'm in. Mind if I bring Mycroft?"

"Holmes? Yeah, she's a smarty. She can be on our team."

Greg says he'll see Kendal later, then hangs up to immediately call Mycroft.

She answers what seems like an eternity later, and Greg holds his breath the whole time.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he replies, "Wanna go out tonight?"

"Uhm…" Mycroft chuckles.

Greg sighs. "That…came out quickly…What was supposed to be in there was that there's a pub quiz tonight and I was wondering if you'd like to join."

"A…pub quiz?"

"Yeah, like at a pub they ask que—"

"I know what it is, Lestrade."

"Oh." Greg frowns. Mycroft doesn't sound upset or like she's going to say no. She sounds skeptical, and that worries Greg the most. If it's something she doesn't want to do, but she does it anyway, he'll feel bad for asking her to do it at all.

"You don't have to," he says. "I would just…y'know…like to see you."

Mycroft doesn't say anything for eight seconds (Greg counted), but she finally says, "Alright. I can go to a pub."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It'll be…fun."

"Only if you want to."

"I do."

"Okay," he says, letting a smile creep across his face. "Then I'll pick you up at eight."

"Great," Mycroft says, and Greg can only hope she's smiling too.

* * *

Greg arrives exactly at eight o'clock to take her to the pub. He's overly excited and was ready two hours ago, but he didn't want to seem as eager as he is so he waited until eight to pick her up, as he said he would.

She buzzes him up to her flat, and once he gets up there he watches her scurry around the flat picking up seemingly random items and stuffing them into a large purse.

"Okay," she finally says, holding her large purse. "I'm ready."

"Great," he says. "And you're sure you want to go?"

"Well, I suppose we could just stay here and make out."

His eyes light up instantly. "Really?"

Mycroft smirks, grabs his arm, and pulls him out the door.

* * *

Greg is too eager the entire time. He opens the door of the cab and trips getting out, he squeezes Mycroft's fingers too tight pulling her to the entry of the pub, and he trips again when missing the small step into the building. She visibly tries not to laugh as he blushes embarrassedly.

Greg sighs and rubs his chin, trying to hide his bashful smile. "Well that wasn't terrible," he mutters.

"It was adorable," she says as if stating the clearest fact in all the world. Greg looks at her, but she continues as though she said nothing. "Drink?"

"Yeah," Greg says, "What'll you have?"

"Greg!" they hear shouted from across the bar.

"Oh god," Mycroft mutters as they both see Kendal climbing through people to get to them.

"Sorry, did I mention—"

"Could've been nice."

Greg frowns. He knows she and Kendal hate each other, and he hopes that won't put her in a foul mood all evening. He will just try to work to keep them apart.

His flatmate gets to them and throws his arms around both of them, squeezing them both tight.

"So good to see ya both!" Kendal cries, kissing their cheeks. Greg catches Mycroft roll her eyes before he feels her jerk away. "Aye," Kendal continues, "We're over there. Your cute little brain better pull through for our team, Holmes-y."

Kendal darts away and Greg turns to Mycroft. "I'm sorry, he's drunk."

"I have eyes, Lestrade."

Greg thinks about laughing, but he doesn't. "So, that drink?"

Mycroft doesn't look terribly out of place at all. Greg feared the minute they sat at their table that she'd look confused or angry about being there, but she was just as confident as she ever is.

What upsets him about this date-non-date is that it seems as though none of his friends have ever spoken to a woman before. All of their comments either go unnoticed by Mycroft or ignored, and Greg is fine with that. But the things his friends are saying is making him angry enough for the both of them.

When one of his friends says, "I never thought a smart girl with glasses could be that sexy." it's the final straw for Greg. He clutches his glass so tight that his knuckles whiten and drinks the last three sips of his drink in one.

"Refill?" Mycroft asks. "I'll get them before the next round begins."

"Sure," he says, thankful for a moment alone to talk to his friends.

She gives him a smile before hopping off her stool and working her way through the crowd. Once he sees her auburn ponytail disappear, he turns to his friends.

"What the fuck?" he asks.

All the guys grin.

"We're just having a bit of fun," one says.

"She's just really hot," another friend says.

"He's only upset because he's in love with her," Kendal says.

"I'm upset because she's a person and you're not treating her like one," Greg says. "My feelings towards her are irrelevant because you're all acting like arseholes."

The guys don't say anything, they just try to hide their grins.

"When she gets back you're apologizing or keeping your stupid mouths shut for the rest of our time here or else we're leaving and you can lose on your own."

The guys nod and sip their drinks.

Mycroft returns seconds later. She says nothing, but Greg notices quickly that her blouse in unbuttoned far enough to reveal more of her cleavage, an ample amount. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, then hauls him in for a long kiss.

Greg can see nothing, but he can feel his three friends' intense gazes on them. In fact, he can feel everyone looking at them, but he doesn't care. He kisses her back because it fills him with warmth and happiness.

Mycroft smiles when she pulls back.

"They're out of your beer, I want to go home."

She says it as though the two pieces of information are meant to go together. And maybe they do, Greg doesn't know, but he suddenly wants to go home, too. Forget the game, forget his friends, and do whatever Mycroft Holmes wants for the rest of the evening. He'll skinny dip in the freezing Thames if she wants.

He finally nods. "Lead the way."

Mycroft smiles politely at the boys, then grabs Greg's hand and leads him out of the pub.

They walk down the street silently but comfortably. She walks almost playfully, her hair swinging back and forth with each click of her heels. Greg wonders again how she can walk so comfortably, but notes that she looks great while doing it.

"Sorry about leaving," she says. "I hope you don't mind. Your friends were pissing me off."

Greg laughs. "No, don't apologize. I should apologize for keeping you there so long. I didn't…I still shouldn't have let them, but I didn't know you heard them."

"You didn't let them," she argues. "You called them arseholes."

"You…heard that?" Greg asks, blushing.

"You will find that I have exceptional hearing. And I was standing three feet away."

"And you wanted to leave even though they'd hopefully stop when I asked?"

"I wanted to leave because you asked."

Greg squints at her. "I…don't understand."

Mycroft tucks her arm in Lestrade's. "God, you're dumb."

"Wait…" Greg sighs, peering at her again. "You…like that I stood up for you?"

"Though I do not need you to fight my battles, you behaved admirably and I'd like to…reward you. Or thank you. Or show you that I care for you as well."

"What—"

Mycroft suddenly grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him in to another sweet kiss. She kisses him softly at first, all warm lips and playful nips, but it quickly turns heated and rough, all tongue and teeth and they forget they're on the street, they just clutch each other tightly and don't let go. His arms wrap around her hips and his hands climb up her back until his fingers are tangled in the bottom of her hair. She squeezes her arms around his head and Greg isn't even bothered that he can't breathe.

"My place?" Mycroft asks a minute later.

* * *

Tangled on a cramped sofa is a beautiful, wonderful place to be when you've got Mycroft Holmes' long legs wrapped around your waist. Greg managed to get her tight black shirt unbuttoned without fully getting off of her, and she yanks his shirt off at the same time.

Greg breaks away to look down at her exposed chest. "Wait, did you unbutton your shirt more at the pub to make my friends jealous?"

"It was clear they were already jealous, that they are every time you have a girl, but yes I wanted to make them jealous."

Greg grins at her. "Shameless."

"I work with what I have," she says, pulling him down and sticking her tongue down his throat.

Greg's fingers trail down the soft skin of her stomach to the belt of her jeans, where his fingers dip beneath the band to rub bits of her skin that he's yet to see.

Greg kisses down her jaw to her neck. He wants to unbuttoned her jeans, he wants to touch her, make her squirm, but he knows he needs to ask.

"Can I please take your pants off?" he asks instead of trying to think of anything suave of even remotely romantic.

Mycroft laughs. "I…" Greg's fingers stop and he pulls them out of her pants. "It's not that I don't want to," she says. "I don't want to have sex."

"Oh…'kay…"

"It's just that I don't know if you're clean yet, I don't have any condoms, and I know you don't."

"How do you know I don't?"

"There aren't any in any of your pockets or your wallet."

"How do you—never mind, you're right. Damn it."

"I apologize, Gregory, but—"

"No, no, don't. You've every right to say no, whatever the reason."

She smiles at him. And she looks so beautiful that he has to kiss her.

"What do you want to do?" she asks.

"Well, I could put my shirt on and leave like a prat, or I can make us some tea and we can watch the last of whatever talk show is on tonight."

Mycroft smiles. "Tea, then?"

Greg kisses her cheek, then sits up. "Tea."

Because Mycroft doesn't ask him to spend the night, he leaves an hour later. He goes to bed that night planning their next date-non-date.


	8. Test Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sex.

They spend every day together for the next week, and they are both dancing around each other like school kids with crushes. They share short kisses at the end of each date-non-date, and they trying to keep touching at a minimum. For one brush of skin on skin may set them hurdling towards a skipped date and toe curling ecstasy instead.

Which wouldn't be so bad if Greg's test results would come in.

He thinks it's a good sign that his doctor hasn't called personally yet. He fears that if they do call instead of mail the results, there will be something wrong. And not only is Greg sure he is careful, he also really hopes there is nothing wrong because he doesn't want Mycroft to change her mind about the whole thing.

But finally,  _finally_ , the lovely letter comes in the post and Greg rips it open before he's even to the elevator of his building. As the doors shut and he reads that he's clear of everything, he throws his arms in the air and lets out a loud, "YES!"

He decides, after a few minutes of debate, that he doesn't want to call her over to have sex right then and there. Greg decides he can wait, that he'll casually slip it in during their next date-non-date. Instead of calling her, he gathers clothes to head down to the gym for a few hours, like he has been doing to relieve his frustration for the past few weeks.

* * *

Coincidentally, Mycroft has been relieving her frustration in the same way. Ever since she decided to get healthier, she's been a frequent gym member and never misses a work out. But over the past few weeks of not being as close to Lestrade as she wishes to be, she's been working out a lot more.

As she gains a steady run on her favorite treadmill (this one is facing out the window), she thinks about how odd all of this really is. Had someone told her months ago that she would be sprinting on a treadmill to keep her thoughts out of Gregory Lestrade's pants, she'd have laughed and told them the million ways that would never happen. But here she is. Trying not to think about Gregory's pants.

It's too bad her life is so well on track, because that leaves little else to think about before her thoughts trail back to Gregory's pants.

She thinks about the way he walks, that he walks like he's got something worth showing in there, she thinks about the morning he answered the door naked, and she thinks about what she noticed during their heated kissing on her sofa. Mycroft would have had to been truly uninterested to feel the bulge in Gregory's jeans, and she is pleased with what she felt. He's got to be above average, surely.

And he's had sex with a lot of women, so he must know what to do with it. This, of course, excites her, but in her experience, knowing what to do with a dick doesn't mean they know what to do with anything else. Mycroft can't help but wonder if Lestrade knows the many other ways to pleasure a woman.

Before her thoughts can move any further, her phone rings. She glares at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?" she pants, slowing down the treadmill to a brisk walk.

"You are either having sex or exercising. But considering all the variables, including that you're  _you_ , and—"

Mycroft cuts him off prematurely. "Why would I answer my phone if I was having sex?"

"Why wouldn't you, if they're dull? I have."

"Jesus, please tell me we've never been on the phone while you were having sex."

"You probably would've been able to deduce."

Instead of agreeing, because she can never,  _ever_  agree with her little brother, she asks instead, "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Father requests your presence at dinner tomorrow evening."

Mycroft stops the machine and picks up her bag so nobody will take it while she gets a drink of water. "And why didn't  _Dad_  just call me?"

"He's afraid you'll say no."

"When have I ever?"

"He also doesn't want to tell you that Mother's sisters are joining us."

"Oh god," Mycroft mutters. It's not that she doesn't like visiting with her deceased mother's family, it's that her mother's sisters are nothing like how her mother was. Jolene Claire Holmes was kind, quiet with everyone but her husband and children, caring, loving, and she had a gorgeous personality. Her sisters are loud, obnoxious, and can never let anything go until they're happy with it. They've criticized Mycroft and Sherlock both since the day their mother died, and they never fully enjoy a meal with them.

"Why?" Mycroft finally asks, regaining her thoughts.

"Because Father wants to tell them about the impending nuptials. Because apparently it is their business that Mother's been dead for ten years and he is finally moving on."

"Why do you have to say it like that?"

"Like what?"

Mycroft sighs, knowing better than to talk to her brother now about his lack of emotion when it comes to their mother's death. "Never mind. What time is dinner?"

"Seven, at home."

"Do you need a ride?"

Usually, when they have to be at their country home, they ride together. Mycroft's got the car in the city and Sherlock is usually just too lazy to drive himself the two hours home.

"I wasn't planning to go."

"Oh, no!" Mycroft cries. "If I'm going, you're going."

"But I've got—"

"No, I don't care. Dad doesn't want to call me and he's afraid I will not go, which means you've already disappointed the poor man. Sherlock, he asks nothing of us. The least we can do is not making him go through a dinner with Mum's horrid sisters alone."

Mycroft can practically hear Sherlock roll his eyes. "Fine. Pick me up at two."

Mycroft smiles. "Love y—"

"Shut up," Sherlock says before hanging up on Mycroft.

She still grins after stuffing her phone back into her bag and calling her short work out a day. Any day she can fluster Sherlock is a good day, so she plans to head home and call Lestrade to request he request his test results quicker.

* * *

Lestrade calls Mycroft to ask her out that evening. They plan a movie non-date; after a short argument, Mycroft lets Lestrade pick the movie because, according to him, she knows nothing about entertainment.

Mycroft arrives at Lestrade's flat at six. She's glad when Kendall doesn't answer the door, because seeing him drunk and hearing the rude things he can say about a woman was enough for her to last at least a month without him.

"Did you pick a movie?" Mycroft asks, removing her coat and following Lestrade to his bedroom.

"Yeah, the new—"

"Not a superhero movie, please."

Lestrade frowns. "You told me I could choose…"

Mycroft wanders towards his desk. His latest math quiz is on the top of a stack of papers, and when picking it up to examine it she finds his doctor's note underneath. She tosses the math quiz aside and gathers the doctor packet instead.

"You're clean," she reads, as Lestrade continues on about the latest action film that Mycroft has no desire to see.

"Oh, yeah, I—" Mycroft turns around to find Lestrade smiling excitedly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess I'm telling you now."

Mycroft's face cracks into a grin. "I think I know of a better way to spend our time, then."

"Yes?"

She steps up to him, closing the wide gap and pressing her entire front against his. His hands instantly migrate to her waist, and he blinks slowly.

"I want to teach you something essential to the pleasure of women everywhere."

"Okay…" he pants.

"On your knees, Lestrade."

* * *

Greg's sure he's never been more excited to get a girl's pants off.

He is proud to say he's had a lot of sex, but this is Mycroft Holmes, who is has wanted since the moment he first met her. He even wanted her after the first ever thing she said to him was, "I've never been so unimpressed by another human in my entire life."

So he takes this slow. Greg kisses her while pulling her to the bed, he sits her down gently, and then he does as told. He drops ungracefully to the floor at her feet.

"Good, I like you there," she says, running her shoe'd foot against the side of his leg. He shivers already. Her voice dropped to a low, sexy grumble and he bites his lip to not moan.

"Remove my shoes," she tells him next, and he excitedly lifts one foot then the other, divesting her of the giant high heels she insists on wearing. He kisses each ankle in turn.

Mycroft sits up from her leaning position and grabs hold of his shirt collar. She pulls him into a long kiss, where she sucks on his tongue and drives him mad.

After a long minute, or five, Mycroft lifts Greg's shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

She nibbles on his earlobe and whispers, "You may remove any item of my clothing."

Greg starts with her shirt, just because he wants to have her entirely naked on his bed. It takes a few embarrassing seconds to get it off because she's wearing a button up blouse with very tiny buttons, but she doesn't reprimand him for taking such time. She slides it off when he finishes and places it on top of his.

He takes in as much as he can before she's kissing him again, and this time she's yanking at his belt and jeans. The quicker she goes, the more he wants her, so he kisses down her chin and jaw to her neck and collarbones. Greg sucks gently, not wanting to leave a mark but to hear her hiss and moan. He continues south and kisses gently at her breasts.

"My jeans now, if you would," she says, a bit breathless but still in control.

That needs to change, he thinks, his hands moving to the band of her jeans.

Finally, they come off and she's left in just underwear on his bed. And she's everything he's ever dreamed. Her skin is soft and smooth and he wants to rub his face all over her, but he realizes that would be very odd, to say the least. So instead, he hooks his fingers on her pants and pulls.

By now, Greg has figured out that Mycroft wants him to go down on her, and that is absolutely fine with him. Though his neglected cock is screaming with need, he wants to pleasure her. He wants to learn how to pleasure her. He wants to make her come a thousand times before he can even once, and he's never felt this way before. So before she can say anything more, he dives right in.

"Wait," she mumbles breathlessly. "Tease. The beginning is about the buildup."

"Tease…" he repeats. "Right."

"Try again."

Greg licks his lips for a second to think, then decides to start slow. He tries to tease by kissing gently, first her bellybutton, then slowly down her pelvis to the dark hair between her legs. But he doesn't go down any further; instead he kisses her thighs lower and lower until she gasps.

"Very good," she says, falling back against his bed.

Greg grins smugly and does it some more. He kisses, this time sucking lightly at those spots and swirling his tongue around each area.

"Okay," she says next. "Slow is good for now. But you can start moving…in."

 _In_ , he thinks. He thinks about what he likes a girl to do to him, and the thing he likes first is the initial lick up the underside of his cock. So he tries that; he licks one flat-tongued stripe from her hole, to the top of her clit.

"Oh…yeah…" she moans softly.

His grin widens.

"Okay," Mycroft tries. "I can't speak for all women, but I can say that only about eighty percent of women can't orgasm from penetration alone. So we stimulate the clitoris to get there."

"Right here?" Greg asks, rubbing the little nub gently with the tip of his finger.

"God, yeah, good, you know what that means."

"I'm not stupid. I did pass basic school anatomy. And frankly, I find it insulting that you would insinuate that just because I have a dick, I don't know anything about people with vaginas. And furthermore—"

Mycroft sits up. "You are ruining the moment though."

"You're the one who wanted to give me the sex talk in the middle of—"

"Please stop talking and instead do something useful with your mouth."

Greg lets out a huff, climbs on top of her, kisses her mouth roughly, then descends with kisses until he's once again between her legs. Then he starts with open mouth kisses to her clit.

The sounds Mycroft makes is a clear indication that he's doing a good job. She yanks his hair, scratches his shoulders, then lets go of him to fist the bedding and arch her back. Greg wishes he could see her, see all of her, but that thought is pushed back in his mind to make way for the instruction she is giving him.

"C-circles—right there, that—left, no right, left—up, up more, downdowndown—god…"

She comes with her thighs locked around his head and his name on her lips. Greg grasps her hips and holds on, letting her take the last of her pleasure from him. When she finally lets him go and practically pushes him away, she sits back on his heels and takes in the sight in front of

him. He would happily sit on the floor and stare at her like this all day, but his cock is painfully hard and still trapped in his pants.

"That was amazing," she says. "For your first try."

"I have gone down on a girl before," he argues.

"Probably not like that."

He absentmindedly nods, then gives up hope of actually fucking her and shoves a hand into his pants. He moans in relief and strokes.

"Wait," she says, "Come up here."

Greg climbs onto the bed next to her and flops down on his back, then Mycroft leans over him and takes hold of his cock.

"This is nice," she says, almost in awe. "This will be more than satisfactory."

Greg can't help but laugh, that being the most ridiculous this Mycroft Holmes has ever said to him. "Thanks. I'll be sure to tell my mum next time we speak."

After a laugh, Mycroft kisses him and strokes, and with the mixture of her hand on his cock and her tongue in his mouth, Greg comes with a slight shout.

When they finally calm, Mycroft falls next to him on her back.

"Well, that was good," she calmly says.

"Good? You screamed my name as you orgasmed. From my tongue, I may add."

"I did not scream."

Greg chuckles. "Whatever."

Mycroft playfully shoves him.

Greg kisses her quickly, then flops back where he was.

"I'm not going to move for a week, okay?"

"Fine with me. I can use you in this position."

Greg grins. "Fine with me."

* * *

They stay in Greg's bed, just talking and laughing, for almost an hour after cleaning up. When they finally move, they go to a late dinner and at the end of the night, Greg walks her home.

"Needless to say, I had a really great time tonight," he says as they get to her building. "I would like to learn from you again."

Mycroft grins wickedly. "Good, because I have a lot to teach you. Goodnight, Gregory."

Greg kisses her. "Goodnight."


	9. Relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like angst, I'm sorry.

Greg had never cared about having a flatmate and bringing a girl home until the first time Kendall, his roommate, saw Mycroft in only her underwear. Mycroft screamed loud enough to wake the dead, which incidentally woke Greg, and after that they decided to reserve underwear-only time to Mycroft's flat.

And their non-dates didn't always end in sex, because they like to think of themselves as mature adults and they like to think their relationship (if one could even call it that) is worth more than having sex.

But they weren't in a relationship. They got together alone, but those weren't called dates. They had sex, but they weren't being exclusive. They hadn't had that talk yet, Greg hadn't yet told her that he didn't want her to see anybody else. And Mycroft hadn't made it clear to him if she felt the same.

On one of the nights that Mycroft decides to see her friends alone, Greg decides to go out with friends and casually survey the group to see what they think.

Casual flies out the window when Kendall blurts, "What do you guys think of Holmes and Lestrade not being exclusive?"

Joe speaks first, saying if she doesn't want to tie him down, he is free to do as he pleases. "Or who you please," Joe adds with a nod towards the table full of girls next to him.

Greg rolls his eyes. He turns to Lacey and Jane, the two girls with the group, to find out their opinion.

"Well, there are a lot of things to think about here," Jane says.

"Oh great, this is becoming a  _discussion_ ," Kendall says to Joe.

"You brought it up!" Greg cries, but Kendall and Joe are already up and headed for a pool table.

"Do you still want our input?" Lacey asks.

"Sure," Greg noncommittally answers. It's not that he doesn't value the girls' opinion, it's that he doesn't want to hear something he doesn't like.

"Well," Jane says, "If I was seeing a guy and not calling our dates by that name, I would probably be looking elsewhere. We've all done it, anyway."

"Done what?"

"Had a guy to hook up with but still checking my options."

"Wonderful," Greg mutters.

"But," Jane joins, "It is a good sign that she wanted to know you were clean before having sex with you."

Greg blushes. "How do you know that?"

The girls suspiciously divert their eyes as they take sips of their drinks.

Greg just sighs. "But that's a good sign?"

Jane continues. "I would think she'd expect for that not to be an issue, meaning she expects you not to have sex with anyone else."

"Isn't that a lot for someone to expect another person to just figure out?"

"She must know you have smart friends."

Greg chuckles.

"The bottom line is this," Lacey says. "Do you want to date other people?"

"N-no…not…I don't know…"

"That's something you should know before you bring it up. If you ask her to be exclusive, you must be ready to be exclusive, too."

Greg just nods, then downs the last of his beer and heads to the bar for another.

* * *

That same night, under similar circumstances, Mycroft is having the same conversation with her two closets friends while sitting comfortably on her sitting room floor in her pajamas.

"Don't you want him to only date you?" Emily asks.

"Are we even dating?" Mycroft replies, taking the second bottle of wine away from Millie and pouring the last of the bottle into her own glass.

Millie, her oldest friend since primary school, also her most drunk friend at the moment, says, "You go on dates, you fuck. You're modern day dating."

"Well, we just haven't talked about it."

"I think if you bring it up, and say that you want to only date him too, he'll agree. He's head over heels for you," Emily encouragingly says.

"I think you'd better make the move before he makes a different move," Millie states as a fact.

"Maybe he isn't even thinking about other people," Emily argues.

Millie scoffs. "He's a man, of course he's thinking about other people."

Mycroft just frowns. She hadn't really thought about it. Did she want Lestrade to herself? Of course, she doesn't want to risk what he is surely capable of picking up. But does she want to be committed to him? She hasn't been committed to anyone in quite some time, and honestly it scares her. It's easier for her to remain detached as to avoid potential hurt, but the thought of Lestrade being detached from her makes her feel uneasy.

"I liked it better when you dated girls," Millie says, sneakily taking the glass of wine out of Mycroft's hand. "What was that one girl? The bartender?"

Mycroft laughs. "You only liked Heather because she let you borrow those long black boots and never asked for them back."

"She was a gift to all of our lives," Millie says with a smile.

Emily and Mycroft laugh.

"Well," Emily finally says, "I think you ought to talk to Lestrade about how you feel. And before that, you'd better figure out how you feel."

Mycroft nods and takes an absentminded drink from her empty glass.

Greg makes his way through the crowded bar while thinking about what the girls said. Maybe Mycroft does want to be with him, maybe she doesn't. Does he want to risk messing up what they do have by asking about it? What if it drives her away? What if he's all wrong and she's just using him for a bit of fun, like Jane says? He wishes he could get inside her head without having to talk to her.

Greg shakes that last thought from his mind because it's terrible. He wants to talk to Mycroft, he wants to know what she thinks, and he doesn't, by any means, want her to remain quiet on how she feels.

"Girlfriend troubles?" he hears to his left, so quiet that he thinks he's imagining it. But he looks over and sees a tall blonde leaning next to him.

"Girlfriend? No."

The girl smiles. "Good. I'm Holly."

"Hi, Holly. I'm Greg."

"What is troubling you, Greg?"

Greg sighs and decides to unload on this poor stranger. She asked, didn't she?

When his short story is finished, Holly orders him a shot and they down the little glasses together.

"If you ask me," she says, taking a deep breath and clicking her glass down. "This girl has no idea what she wants, you have no idea what you want, so who cares? Do whatever you want."

"I don't know what I want."

Holly leans over suddenly and kisses him without warning.

When she finally pulls away, Greg opens his eyes and stares back at her.

"Do you know now?" she asks.

Greg shakes his head.

She kisses him again.

They don't seem to stop kissing for what feels like hours, until finally Joe approaches Greg and lets him know that the group is leaving.

"They're, uh, my ride," Greg says.

"I could give you a ride," Holly says with a smirk.

Greg smiles. "I'd really better go."

Holly takes a card out of her clutch and slips it into Greg's shirt pocket. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

 _I don't know!_  Greg's mind screams, but he casually shrugs. "Might be."

"I'm having a party. My address is on the card."

Greg nods, then watches her turn around and leave him first.

She gets a step away and doubles back. "And don't bring the girl."

Greg just nods again, then walks out of the bar to catch up with his friends.

* * *

With a little bit of pressure from his friends to go out and have a good time, Greg denies plans with Mycroft to instead go to Holly's party. He takes Kendall and Joe for support, which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea.

The evening began fine. There were a lot of people in the house so he didn't see Holly that much, until it was clear that she'd made the rounds enough to pull Lestrade and the boys to her large comfortable sofa with some of her friends.

Kendall and Joe get comfortable with two of Holly's friends very quickly, and soon Greg notices that Holly notices that they aren't being watched. She wiggles closer to him and drapes a long arm over his shoulders.

"Tell me about yourself, Gregory Lestrade."

Greg tells her he plays football for the university, and that he doesn't have a career path in mind.

"And you don't have a girlfriend," she adds.

"And that, yeah."

They talk for a long time about many different things. After the first hour, Greg stops thinking about all of Mycroft's answers to his questions and instead focuses solely on Holly. He enjoys talking to her, which is important. Months ago, he'd have already jumped into bed with her. But now he wants to know what's in her head, what makes her tick. He wants to hear her voice.

But then they're kissing again, and every one and every thing gets ignored. The noise disappears, the people disappear, and Greg focuses on kissing her.

At the end of the night, she doesn't invite him to stay so he doesn't ask to, and that's fine. If Holly wants to see him again, she can call him, but for now Greg knows he needs to figure out if he wants to pursue all the other Holly's in the world, or if he's satisfied with the only Mycroft Holmes in the world.

* * *

Mycroft gets on Instagram while brushing her teeth before bed. She figured out the password to Sherlock's account months ago and either he hasn't noticed or he doesn't care. She doesn't post pictures from it, she just follows people she would never follow with an account of her own.

One of those people is Kendall, Lestrade's roommate. As she's scrolling the feed, she notices something that makes her double back and scroll upwards again.

Via Kendall's account, there's a photo of Lestrade very close to another girl. His hand is on her thigh, which is almost draped over him, and their bodies are turned openly towards each other.

"Hmm," she says out loud to herself, putting her toothbrush away. "Guess that solves all my problems."


	10. Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have sex this chapter. Just, y'know, letting you know.

Mycroft spends the entire next day trying to decide if she's upset by Kendal's Instagram post or not. She thinks about not even bringing it up, but after much debate she realizes that if she really didn't care whether or not Lestrade was getting comfortable with other girls, she wouldn't need to think about it this much.

They had made plans to have dinner at her flat that night. He's a terrible cook, so every few non-dates they agree to stay in so she can teach him how to cook. But Mycroft wishes they were meeting at his flat, that way if it went poorly she could flee instead of having to ask him to leave.

He arrives at seven, like he'd promised, and he acts like nothing is different. Not that Mycroft had expected him to. He kisses her when she opens the door, like usual. Their conversations start easily, like usual. He talks about his biggest upcoming match and asks her to come, and she only pops open a bottle of wine to ease her own nerves.

She's never one to beat around the bush. If there's one thing she prides herself on, it's that she is able to speak her mind whenever she pleases. She's never before feared the outcome of saying what she's thinking, not even that summer when Sherlock let his hair grow well past his shoulders—she mentioned that it looked terrible, and he shaved his head. He was thirteen, she was seventeen, and she was still grounded until his hair grew back enough to spike.

So rather than letting it build inside of her until it made her physically ill, Mycroft blurts it in the middle of sautéing onions.

"I saw Kendal's post on Instagram last night."

Gregory immediately looks blank. "What post?"

"The one of you and another girl."

He frowns deeply. " _What_?"

Mycroft sighs, then pulls her phone out of her back pocket to find the photo to show him herself. She tries not to look at him, because she doesn't want the shocked or hurt look on his face to change her mind about having this discussion.

Finally, Mycroft finds the photo and slides her phone across the island to show him. He tentatively picks it up to examine the screen.

They're silent for far longer than expected. Because of past experience, Mycroft always expects shouting. She downed her glass of wine when Gregory picked up the phone to prepare. But he is silent. He is staring at the phone with an unreadable look on his face. Mycroft would guess he looks angry, but he also looks…scared. Guilty. All in all, not good.

"So…" he finally starts.

"We're not dating," Mycroft finally says, decides on. "We're not. So really, I can't be upset."

"But you are."

"Just tell me what…"

Gregory looks at her. "What?"

Mycroft doesn't know _. Tell me what you were trying to do? Tell me what you did with her? Tell me what you were going to do with her? Tell me if you honestly thought I'd be okay with this?_

Mycroft just rubs her eyes instead. "Nothing."

"You're obviously upset, or else you wouldn't have brought it up," he says, viciously. "Come on, let me have it."

She stares at him. " _You're_  mad at  _me_?"

"I'm pissed off at Kendal for posting that without asking me first. I'm mad that you found out. And I'm so fucking mad that you won't just tell me what you want me to do!" He throws her phone onto the island and violently stands from his stool.

She jumps, but he doesn't notice.

"I really like you Mycroft, I like being around you and I like…just…having you here. But I need you to tell me what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"See, I can't work with that. It's a yes or a no, do you want to actually date me?"

Mycroft wants to scream at him that she doesn't know. Dating Gregory would be so easy, but potentially breaking up with Gregory would be so hard.

Instead of screaming, she quietly says that she doesn't know.

"Then I'm…you can't tell me what to do."

"Fine," she says.

He's about to leave, but he turns back to her when he reaches the doorway to the kitchen.

"Sorry about your phone," he says. "If I damaged it, just…I'll find a way to replace it."

With that, he leaves.

Mycroft stands in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, until she no longer feels upset about it and instead feels nothing about it.

* * *

It would have been a lot longer without seeing him had Emily not begged to her to go the football match. They sit behind the goal rather than behind the team this time, in hopes that Lestrade wouldn't see them.

Emily enjoys the game, and since Gregory plays well Mycroft doesn't find it a complete waste of time. What she does find a waste of time is watching Lestrade celebrate with the rest of the team and fans, being kissed on the cheek by many girls. It drives her crazy that it drives her so crazy.

"I know you want him," Emily says as they walk to the nearest restaurant for dinner after the match. "I can see the way you were trying to contain your jealousy—"

"I'm not jealous."

"I know you are jealous. I know you are itching to speak with him."

"Why do you think that?"

"I  _know_  that because, when something bothers you, you get very quiet and reserved. You didn't speak from the last whistle until just now. Watching him with those girls kissing his cheek and everything was bothering you."

Mycroft frowns. "I wish someone could tell me how to feel."

"I can tell you how you feel. You like him. But I can't tell you what to do. I  _can_  tell you to be happy, to do whatever you need to do to be happy. And if that means being with him, committing to him, do it. I'm not saying to let being with him or not dictate your happiness. You don't need a man to be happy, but…you care about the idiot."

Mycroft cracks a smile. "I do."

They walk arm in arm the last block. Mycroft thinks about what she wants to do, and she wonders if Gregory would even have her after their fight.

And she realizes that settles it; wondering if he would makes her realize she wants to find out.

* * *

Since she knows Gregory's schedule, Mycroft makes a plan to find him at the library Thursday evening, when he always studies. She knows he likes to be there Thursday evening because there are far less people there at that time than any other time of day, and he likes privacy.

But she doesn't just want to chat. She wants him to beg to be hers. She wants him to fall to his knees powerless. But instead of making him do that, she thinks of the next best thing: having sex with him right then and there in the library. What better way to assert power?

She puts on her shortest skirt, her tallest heels, and wears her warmest coat, and heads for the library.

* * *

Greg finds the most secluded table in the very, very back of the library so he can concentrate without any distractions. There aren't ever many people there on Thursday, but with Mycroft clouding his mind for the past few days, he needs somewhere extremely quiet to try to focus on his work.

He pulls out his books and starts to study. He takes notes the way Mycroft taught him to, and after thirty minutes he starts to get into a steady study pace. He's sure by the time he's done copying notes he'll have absorbed the information he needs. This study session won't be a waste after all.

Greg hears the click of heels and slowly looks up from his books. He follows the long black coat to the face of Mycroft Holmes.

"Holmes?"

Mycroft stares down at him like she's going to eat him. Greg actually shivers.

"I've come to a decision I hope you can agree with."

"Oh?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.  _It was only a matter of time before she came crawling back_ , he thinks.

"I'm willing to forgive you and overlook the mistake you made, and for all intents and purposes, I'd like for us to date. Properly."

"Would you, now?" he asks. "Well, I don't know, Holmes. How do I know you're not going to be as upset as you were anytime I'm near another girl?"

"How do I know you're not going to drape yourself all over the next girl who glances at you? How do I know you're not going to lose your temper the way you did when I calmly brought it up?"

"Fair enough."

Mycroft cracks a smile, but she looks vicious and dark and  _sexy_. "I have something else that might help make your decision easier."

Greg opens his mouth to speak, but Mycroft slowly begins to unbutton her coat, essentially stripping right there in front of him. His mouth goes a bit dry and he hopes she's not wearing anything underneath, but when her clothes are revealed it's an easy second to her actually being completely nude. Of course, he thinks she looks great in whatever she wears, but this tight skirt and blouse are doing wonders for his imagination.

When she tosses the coat onto the desk on top of his books, Mycroft straddles his waist and wraps her arms around his neck.

"Decision made yet?"

 _Yes_ , he thinks. But of course it was the moment she walked in. And, of course, he wants to push her.

"Unsure, still."

She kisses him. Maddeningly slowly, with a lot of tongue. She pushes her fingers into his hair and pulls his head to match her pace. His hands drift to her waist as she grinds against his growing prick, making his eyes roll back in his head.

"I want to fuck you," she whispers against his lips. "Right here."

Greg's heart hammers in his chest, his blood pumping south so fast that he can't think straight.

"Can I?" she asks.

He nods eagerly.

"Tell me I can."

"You can," he says. "Please."

She kisses him again, this time standing a bit frantically and pulling her own underwear off of one leg. Greg reaches down and hastily opens his jeans enough to get his cock out, and while he's doing that Mycroft reaches into a coat pocket and pulls out a condom.

"You were just carrying that around in your pocket?"

"Where else was I supposed to put it?" she asks, opening the package. "I don't always carry a purse."

"Yeah, but what if it fell out and—"

"I'm not embarrassed about having safe, consensual sex. Now shut up and get this thing on before I change my mind."

Shutting up, Greg takes it from her and gets it on, then she seats herself on his lap again, sinking slowly down onto his cock.

"Oh, jesus…" Greg sighs, holding her close.

"You have to be quiet," she says, pressing her forehead to his and pulling his hair.

"I'm usually quiet," he retorts.

Mycroft lifts herself, then sinks down again. He groans.

"Usually not," she argues.

"Shut  _up_ ," he says when she thrusts again.

Mycroft bites his lip and begins to set a rhythm. Greg tries not to think about how hot she is around him, how good she feels, because he doesn't want to finish too soon. But, he remembers, they are in public. It would so not look good to get caught. A quickie may be the best option.

And the way she's grinding against him, a quickie will be no problem.

Short minutes of silent panting later, he can tell she's close by the way she begins to claw at the back of his head and shoulders. She moans quietly, deliciously, and he has to bite his lip to stop from crying out.

"Greg—" she sighs, and he lets out a moan anyway.

"I don't want you to date any other girls," she chokes out.

He squeezes her hips. "I won't."

"And I don't want you to wonder what we have, because what we have is…" she trails off, losing her rhythm. He helps by thrusting his hips up as much as he can.

"I know," he whispers, trailing his hands up her sides to squeeze her breasts. He's about to come, just two more seconds—

He falls over the edge when she sucks at his earlobe and pants heavily in his ear. She isn't always very loud when she orgasms, but he can tell (hope, actually), that this one was so intense she would have screamed if she could.

His vision returns as she sits back on his thighs. He takes deep breaths as she carefully shifts into a more comfortable position.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Greg asks, tying off the condom after she stands from his lap.

Mycroft pulls a few tissues from another coat pocket. "Just go throw it away."

Greg rolls his eyes, then stands to put his jeans back on. He can't help but smile, though.

"Great," he says. "Now I'm really going to be unable to focus on studying."

Mycroft smiles back. "My work here is done then."

"Oh, no. You're going to help me."

"I am going home to go to bed."

He opens his mouth to retort, but she beats him to it.

"No, you cannot come with me."

"I think I already did, anyway."

Mycroft lets out a laugh. "God, shut up."

"So, is this what happens when you get jealous? Shag me in libraries?"

"Do not make a habit of making me feel that way."

Suddenly feeling serious, like he needs to apologize, he grabs her hand. "I didn't…I never meant to…I'm sorry."

"I appreciate your apology. And now, we can begin to move on."

Greg must still look unconvinced, because she leans over and kisses him delicately.

"Get to studying," she says when she pulls away. "And I'll see you tomorrow."

Mycroft swings her coat on and buttons it all the way.

"What's tomorrow?" he asks.

"Our first date."

With that, she walks out, leaving Greg feeling completely content.


	11. Wedding Date

"Your favorite ice cream is chocolate, your favorite color is yellow, and your middle initial is L."

Mycroft chuckles and pulls her large duvet up over her shoulders. It's snowing out, and they have decided not to leave the flat unless someone is dying.

"One of those is true," she answers. "Now…you love vanilla latte's, you broke your arm when you were ten, and you secretly like the color pink."

Lestrade laughs. "Actually, I was fifteen. Fell out of a tree."

"Ok, ok. Let me guess what you were doing in a tree."

Gregory gives her an expectant look.

"A: You were trying to save a cat. B: You were sneaking out of your bedroom. Or C: You were trying to sneak  _into_  a bedroom."

"Ding ding ding!" Lestrade cries. "C. Girl I was going out with."

"And she didn't have a front door?"

"After ten PM, the front door didn't exist."

Mycroft laughs. "Alright, alright. Do me again."

Lestrade grins. "A man needs more time than twenty minutes."

Mycroft swats his chest. "Not like that! Make some more guesses!"

Lestrade laughs. "Ok, let's see. You actually like spotted dick—"

Mycroft makes a disgusted face. Lestrade laughs.

He continues, "You like singing. And your middle initial is Q."

"What is your obsession with my middle name?"

"I just don't know it. You don't know mine either."

"It's James."

"How do you know that?"

Mycroft guiltily looks away. "I, uhm, looked at your I.D."

Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Of course you did."

Mycroft smiles. "Tell you what, I'll give you a hint. Mycroft is not my first name."

"So it's your middle name."

"I didn't say that."

Lestrade eyes her. "So…I don't understand. Can I have another hint?"

"What will you do for another hint?"

Lestrade lifts an eyebrow. He leans over and kisses her slowly. He lifts the duvet off of her and shifts to be flush against her.

"Playing dirty," Mycroft whispers.

Lestrade rolls on top of her and begins to kiss her neck.

"Alright, alright…" Mycroft sighs, gripping his head to keep him in place. "V. M. C. H."

Lestrade wiggles under the blankets to play even dirtier.

* * *

Mycroft remembers her dad's wedding five days before the event. She practically planned the whole thing, but the start of the new term and her new relationship has had her pretty distracted.

The wedding is on Sunday, but she had promised she'd be at their family home on Thursday evening, which gives her very little time to get ready for her short trip.

Which means she has to call the person who lives closest to the dress shop; luckily, this person knows her measurements perfectly and will know if the altered dress will need further alterations. He's also the only person she knows who will raise complete hell if the dress is not  _perfect_.

Mycroft frantically calls him when she gets out of her last meeting of the day. Sidestepping a gigantic snowy puddle and tugging her coat on while exiting the building, she curses and a mother of two glares at her in passing.

He finally answers on the last ring.

"Sherlock!" she yells into the phone.

"God, what? Why are you shouting? Who's died?"

"What? No—are you drunk? You know what, I don't have time to discuss your middle-of-the-week alcohol intake. I need you to pick up my dress."

"Why me?"

"Because I'm across town and the shop closes in thirty minutes."

"You forgot about the wedding, didn't you?"

"I—no…I don't have time for this. Will you go get it, please?"

"Fine."

"I don't hear you leaving your flat."

"Oh my god, I'm getting my coat."

"Thank you, thank you!"

"You owe me."

"Anything! I love you—"

"Shut up!" Sherlock shouts, then hangs up on her.

The next call Mycroft makes is to the dress shop asking them to call her if Sherlock doesn't show up by closing.

Since Mycroft has an early morning the next day, and now she has to leave the city to be home by dinner like she told her dad she would, she begins to pack as soon as she gets home. Emily calls while she's packing to confirm her plans for the weekend, because she is invited to the wedding too.

"Are you taking Lestrade?" Emily asks.

Mycroft stops in stuffing shirts into her bag. "Shit."

"You haven't asked have you? Were you going to?"

"The thought had crossed my mind a while ago. I thought I had more time!"

"It's not like he'll say no."

"It's such short notice, though."

"Just call him."

So Mycroft does. He, unlike Sherlock, answers right away.

"Miss me?"

Mycroft rolls her eyes and tries not to smile. "Absolutely not."

Gregory chuckles. "To what do I owe this wonderful phone call?"

Mycroft grows nervous, even though she is confident Gregory will say yes to her invitation to the wedding.

"I was just wondering…what are you doing this weekend?"

"Nothing that I know of, nothing extremely important. Why, have you got plans for me?"

"Well, actually," Mycroft takes a deep breath, then blurts out, "Do you want to go to my father's wedding with me?"

"Your fathers…wedding?"

Mycroft hasn't talked about her family life much, but she's sure she's mentioned her mother's death. She chooses not to remind him, just because she doesn't want to talk about it at this moment.

"Yeah, he's been with his fiancé for eight years, or so. Honestly, it's about time they get married. It's Sunday, I'm going tomorrow but if you'd like you can drive with Emily on Saturday. What do you think?"

"I…" Gregory pauses, and Mycroft frowns. She thinks shouldn't have asked, or asked with more time for him to think about it before being three days before he has to go. "I'll need to get my suit dry-cleaned. They do that in a day, right?"

Mycroft wasn't expecting that answer, so it takes her a minute to process.

"You there?" Lestrade asks.

"Yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Yes, I'm sure somebody does dry-cleanings in a short amount of time."

"Great. I can go with Emily, then. Wait—where is the wedding?"

"My father's house, three hours outside of the city."

"Three hours…with Emily…"

Mycroft finally relaxes and lets out a laugh. "She's harmless."

"Well, it'd be my honor to accompany you. How are you getting there?"

"I'm driving."

"Driving yourself? You drive?"

"Yes."

"Wait…do you have a car?"

"I…do…"

"Then why do you make me pay for cabs?! What kind of car do you have?"

Mycroft chooses not to tell him about her vintage Mercedes-Benz that was a gift for her eighteenth birthday.

"I choose not to tell you at this moment."

"Oh god," Lestrade says, "It's expensive, isn't it?"

"You will point out again that I make you pay for cabs."

Lestrade groans. "I'd probably hate you for your money if I didn't like you so much."

Mycroft just smiles.

They stay on the phone for another half an hour while Mycroft packs, and when they hang up she feels excited for the weekend with him.


	12. Smoking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in a long time, but thanks to a nice comment I'm getting back into it. Luckily, I had uploaded two chapters of this on FF and not this! So there's another chapter locked and loaded after this. Enjoy!

Mycroft throws her old bedroom door open to find her dress waiting for her on the bed, along with a lanky intruder with his Oxfords on the bed.

"Get out," she greets, and her brother pouts.

"Is that any way to greet me when you owe me one gigantic favor?"

Mycroft grunts as she pulls her overstuffed suitcases towards her closet. "I already put money in your account this week."

"No, no I don't want money."

"Then I'm afraid there is little else I can help you with. Drugs, rent boys—"

"Rent boys? I'm disgusted at the thought—"

"Oh, it's you who is being rented these days?"

"Rented," Sherlock says, smirking. "If you were more interesting you would know—"

"How is it my fault that you don't tell me about…" Mycroft gives him a once over, noticing a fading hickey on his neck and a stain of (Mycroft grimaces) what's got to be lubricant on the sleeve of his suit jacket. "What's this one's name?"

"John…" Sherlock mutters dreamily, smiling at himself.

"Ah, you've finally shagged the flatmate."

"No, no, he won't have me." Sherlock furrows his eyebrows.

"My condolences."

Mycroft can feel Sherlock staring at her while she hangs her dress and other outfits in her closet.

Finally he asks, "When are you going to tell me about your boyfriend?"

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

"You look tired—"

"I have a difficult job."

"You look happier—"

"I have a lot to be happy about."

"You haven't bothered me in weeks—"

"I'm busy and, believe it or not, you're not the only thing on my mind."

"And Dot's told me you're bringing a date."

Mycroft glares at him. "Cheater."

"Smart to ask."

"Dumb to need help."

Sherlock glares at her. Mycroft smiles at him.

She continues to unpack while Sherlock tells her about the newest man of the week, a thirty-year-old banker named Sebastian. He sounds awful, really, but Mycroft can't tell her brother that. If she shows her disapproval, Sherlock will continue dating him for much longer than he would otherwise. He'll invite Sebastian to dinner, he'll make Mycroft meet Sebastian. If she says, "Wow, sounds great, I'm happy for you, can't wait to meet him." Sherlock will dump him tomorrow.

Sherlock doesn't talk about Sebastian for long, because soon he begins talking about John, the gorgeous, smart, funny, wonderful flatmate.

"And he thinks I'm brilliant," Sherlock says quietly, as if Mycroft isn't supposed to her. " _Me_."

She does feel sad for her little brother. She has been on the side of wanting someone who didn't want you, she's liked straight girls who she had no chance with, too. She got over them, but she's afraid Sherlock will be stuck on this John forever. John is the first person he's ever really loved.

John has made him better, though. Sherlock has had his problems, but he's touched drugs a lot less since John moved in. He's gone to school as he should, he's eaten better, he's begged Mycroft a lot less for money (because he's spending less on drugs, undoubtedly). He just looks better, if not still a bit sad because his love doesn't love him back.

Mycroft doesn't know how to help him other than listening while he rambles on about his flatmate, which is what she does while unpacking. When she finishes unpacking and senses that Sherlock will not be finished anytime soon, she lays down on her bed next to him.

"And the other day, John said the funniest thing…" Sherlock breaks into uncontrollable laughter, dabbing the sides of his eyes as he does. Mycroft fondly smiles at his silliness. "I don't remember what he said, it ended in cantaloupe, but…"

He continues laughing, but slowly he stops and sits up.

"I need a cigarette," he says, heading for Mycroft's window.

"We're adults," she points out, kicking her heels off and climbing out the window after Sherlock. "I thought we outgrew sneaking cigarettes on the roof."

The roof slants outside Mycroft's bedroom, but there's enough space for both of them to sit comfortably. Sherlock takes cigarettes and matches out of his jacket pocket and hands one to Mycroft, then lights a match.

"We can keep a few secrets yet," Sherlock tells her.

"Still afraid of dad?"

"Not just Dad," Sherlock says. "Doctor Dad."

Mycroft laughs. "True. You would think the horror stories we heard about these things would have scared us, but…"

"But," Sherlock replies, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Mycroft smiles at him.

They're silent for half a cigarette, before Sherlock begins to talk about John again.

"He has this god awful girlfriend named…oh, I don't know what this one's name is. Sarah, Jane, Mary, I don't keep track anymore. This one has two cats, and John always comes home smelling like cat. It's awful. And she's a teacher, maybe, I don't know, she's something that works with children. And she wants children, she tells John she wants children, and, the point is…what if John…what if they—"

"They can't have been dating long, can they? Last you and I spoke he was dating a barista."

"Right, but…John's not just any guy. He's not a quick relationship guy. But he is, because he can't find who he wants to settle down with. He doesn't want to be a quick relationship guy. He wants to be a one-girl guy."

Mycroft's never met John, but she really wishes she has so she can judge him for herself. His actual sexuality is undetermined to Sherlock, but the things Sherlock says makes Mycroft think John is keeping a secret. He's more caring to Sherlock than any of his old flatmates have been, Mycroft thinks he flirts with Sherlock. But, of course, that's just from what Sherlock says. Sherlock's vision could be skewed on the whole thing.

"Are you two smoking?!" they hear from the ground below, and quickly they both cover the ends of the cigarettes with their hands, as if that'll keep the smoke smell in.

"It was Mycroft!"

"Sherlock started it!"

"What have I told you two about those damn things?!" Dot, their soon-to-be-but-pretty-much-already stepmother calls to them.

The two crawl to the edge of the roof and pear over the gutter to the ground below. Mycroft has a quick flashback of younger-them hiding from their father and the nanny finding them the same way.

"Are you going to tell Father?" Sherlock asks, the same way he had in Mycroft's memory.

"That depends. Are you two going to get down from the roof and set the table for me, like I've been calling for you to do for an hour? Or do I have to go fetch you?"

"Can we finish our cigarettes first?" Sherlock daringly asks. Mycroft doesn't know whether to laugh or kick him.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, get down here this instant!"

Sherlock jumps back so quickly he almost slips. Mycroft just laughs and follows him back into her bedroom.


	13. Secret Drinking

The two rush downstairs to greet their stepmother, and they're greeted back with a spray of fabric deodorant.

"Honestly, with your upbringing, I don't know why—" Dot stares at Mycroft's bare feet. "Where in god's name are your shoes?"

"Oh, damn," Mycroft sighs. "I forgot to pack shoes _again_!"

Dot rolls her eyes. "I don't need any sass from you today. And don't use that language."

Mycroft and Sherlock exchange an amused look. Dot is a very kind and loving lady, she's practically raised them, but they know that when she gets only a tiny bit stressed, she turns into an overly judgmental, nothing-is-satisfying woman. Dot begins to straighten out Sherlock's hair.

"Yeah Mycroft," Sherlock says, "Don't use that damn language."

Mycroft laughs, but Dot looks murderous.

"You are not too old to be sent to bed without your damn dinner. Now, you fetch your shoes and you, mister, go set the table like I told you to an hour ago. Guests will be here very soon!"

"Guests?!" Sherlock cries. "You said tonight was just us!"

"I fibbed to get you here! Now, go!"

Dot scurries away before Mycroft and Sherlock can move.

"Only a few more days and everything will be back to normal," Mycroft says, patting Sherlock's shoulder.

"Kill me," Sherlock groans, brushing past her and going to the dining room.

They both survive the rest of the evening, including dodging intrusive and annoying questions from various distant relatives.

They're sent to bed early because of their early day the next day, which is a long day of celebration at the pubs nearby. But since they're young adults and don't go to bed at eight at night like everybody else in the house, and since their bedrooms are still adjoined from childhood, Sherlock sneaks a bottle of whiskey from downstairs and brings it into Mycroft's bedroom.

Sherlock tosses the bottle to Mycroft.

"Geez, watch it. This stuff is more expensive than anything you own."

"You caught it."

Mycroft unscrews the cap and sniffs before she takes a drink. "Nice," she mutters, enjoying the burn. She hands the bottle back to Sherlock. "So did you try to invite John here this weekend?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I told him where I was going."

"But you didn't say, 'John, would you like to accompany me to my father's wedding?'?"

"No, I didn't say that. Because he'd freak out about the not-a-date thing, and I wouldn't hear from him for days, and trust me, when you live with that person, it gets very awkward."

Mycroft nods in understanding. She opens her mouth to reply, but Sherlock's phone beeps loudly between them. With a confused look on his face, he picks it up.

Mycroft notices the bashful smile spread across his lips.

"John?" she asks.

Sherlock shrugs.

"What did he say?"

"He asked how it's going," Sherlock talks as he types back, "It's fine, just getting drunk with my fat—"

Mycroft kicks him in the side as hard as he can. Sherlock rolls off the bed with a thump.

"Ow! Fine, sorry!"

Mycroft grins as Sherlock climbs back up.

They talk between Sherlock's texts, and Mycroft feels sad seeing her brother so happy with someone he may never have. As long as Sherlock is happy, she thinks.

They drink almost the entire bottle together before passing out in Mycroft's bed.

* * *

And the next morning, their decision proves to be a terrible idea. Dot wakes them up at seven in the morning, and Sherlock runs to the bathroom to throw up as soon as he stands.

"Oh god, that was a terrible idea…" Mycroft sighs, sitting up and rubbing her head.

Minutes later, Sherlock returns. He looks a bit green, but not terribly sick.

"I usually vomit once and I'm…" he pauses, swaying a little bit. "Fine the rest of the day."

"I usually don't vomit and instead feel ill all day."

"No, remember that time you threw up in Dad's Land Rover?"

Mycroft groans and clutches her stomach. "God, don't remind me."

Dot rushes into Mycroft's bedroom again a second later.

"Hurry up," she tells them. "I need one or both of you to pick up Uncle Stephan from the train station."

She's gone as quickly as she came, and Mycroft and Sherlock just look at each other.

"I can't drive like this!" Mycroft cries.

"I…think I can," Sherlock says, heading for his bedroom. "You'll have to go with me."

Luckily, Mycroft packed her darkest black sunglasses because they help immensely on their journey. Unfortunately, they don't save her from Sherlock's uneasy driving, because she has to make him pull over twice.

"I thought you didn't throw up."

"I usually don't get into a car with a mad driver whilst hungover."

Sherlock just grunts in reply.

They get to the train station on time to find their Uncle Stephen barely exiting the building.

"Hello, my children!" he cries, attacking them both in a tight hug.

"Hello, Uncle," they both mutter, trying to hug back.

He laughs as he lets them go. "Oh, don't tell me you got into the liquor cabinet again. Mycroft, remember that time—"

"Yes, I threw up in the Land Rover, I remember."

Stephen laughs. "Hand over the keys, my boy, I can take it from here."

Sherlock gladly gives him the keys and climbs into the passenger seat, and Mycroft doesn't even argue about him sitting in the front.

* * *

Mycroft does enjoy a day out with her soon-to-be-stepmother, plus Dot's sisters and in-laws. Apart from beginning the morning hungover, she gets past it with a Bloody Mary at brunch.

What keeps her going all day is remembering Greg and Emily will both be at the house Saturday. Before she goes to bed, she gets the spare bedroom where Emily will sleep ready.

"Is this room for your boyfriend?" Mycroft hears behind her. She turns around to find Sherlock propped against the wall.

"You move like a cat, you know that?"

Sherlock smiles. Before he can reply, his phone beeps.

"John still?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock shrugs, then sets his phone on the dresser before moving through the room.

"Dad is letting you sleep in the same bed as your boyfriend?"

"Yes, as I am an adult."

Sherlock walks over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, then practically disappears inside the small cupboard. Seconds later, he emerges with three cigarettes.

Mycroft stares at him, confused, while he examines the cigarettes. "Why did you hide those—"

"I hid them here when I was fifteen. Do you think they're still good?"

Mycroft laughs. "Toss them. There's a fresh pack in my suitcase, as a matter of fact, go get them."

Sherlock takes his cigarettes and walks out of the room, leaving his phone on the dresser. And Mycroft, the nosy big sister she can be, picks it up and finds that Sherlock has no lock on it –not that it would be difficult to crack the code.

Opening his texts, she finds the first conversation with John.

Most of the messages are the normal kind friends and flatmates would have. "You drank the last of the milk, you wanker." "If you don't shut up I'm going in there and breaking your violin with my bare hands." "Can you pay your half of the electric bill so we can have heating tonight?"

But then, Mycroft notices a strange…trend. In the few pages she goes through, every few texts, John sends smiley faces. John compliments Sherlock. John says he wishes he could help Sherlock instead of being stuck in class or work. Reading the texts in a flirtatious way isn't difficult for Mycroft to see. Some aren't different than a message Lestrade is capable of sending her. To her, John could be seen as very interested in her brother.

Taking a chance, she sends a text from Sherlock's phone:

**"** **I know you're asleep and you won't see this until the morning, but I want to invite you to my Father's wedding on Sunday. My sister's boyfriend is here with her and it's making me feel lonely, I'd like someone to share this with. Don't reply to this, I want to be surprised if you show up. But I hope you do."**

She ends the text with a smiley face, waits for it to send, then deletes it.

The phone is back on the dresser by the time Sherlock returns with the cigarettes. Then the two climb onto the roof to smoke their secret cigarettes under the stars.


	14. Drunk

By Saturday, Mycroft is very eager for Lestrade and Emily to arrive. Not only does she miss them both and wish to enjoy both of their company, but Sherlock has been an unbearable mess since she sent the text to his roommate, John. And they've only been near each other for an hour since they left their bedrooms. He hasn't been texting like he was, so Mycroft assumes it's because John hasn't texted him at all. Perhaps John is embarrassed and confused himself, or maybe he's a complete idiot and can't read clear instructions from a text.

Still, Mycroft is ready for her friends to arrive. Emily calls at nine when she is picking Lestrade up, so Mycroft knows they'll arrive on time for lunch.

And then she momentarily panics. All the weekend's festivities are spent separate; men do one thing, women another. This means Lestrade is going to have to go with Mycroft's father who he has never met.

She hates the thought of making Lestrade do something like that. He's easy going and he won't tell her if he's uncomfortable, but she fears he might be. She thinks about employing Sherlock to make Lestrade feel more comfortable, but she knows he's not likely to agree to anything of the sort, especially in this mood.

She tries anyway.

"Are you going golfing this afternoon with Dad?" she asks, handing Sherlock a cigarette peace offering.

"Ugh," he rolls his eyes. "Yes. It's not as though I can say no."

"Well, I think Dad's planning to take Gregory along and—"

"Gregory?" he asks, confused.

"My…uh, boyfriend…"

"Must've deleted it."

"Great, god. Ok, can you just…I don't know, try making him feel comfortable?"

"I'm going to have trouble making myself feel comfortable!" Sherlock practically shouts.

So much for our nice, peaceful weekend together, Mycroft thinks upon hearing Sherlock's tone. "Look, even if it means introducing him around and pawning him onto someone else, that's fine. At least introduce him. I...I hope he'll get along with everyone just fine, it's just that he doesn't approach people very easily."

Sherlock takes a slow drag of his cigarette and looks contemplative. No doubt he doesn't feel like being social with anyone since he's in such a foul mood. "Fine," he exhales. "But you owe me."

"Don't I always?"

Mycroft leaves Sherlock to finish helping Dot set up for lunch, trying to busy herself until noon.

* * *

 

Finally, the time comes that Lestrade and Emily should be arriving, but they're not at the house yet. Mycroft thinks perhaps there was traffic. She doesn't worry about it too much and instead goes outside where the long table is set for the entire family lunch.

Emily and Gregory arrive thirty minutes later, and after hearing the doorbell ring Mycroft rushes to answer. The initial sight isn't what she expected; Emily is slumped with an arm around Gregory, who is trying to keep her standing upright.

"Oh my god, what's going on?!" Mycroft cries, ushering them inside.

"I was just talking with her," Gregory answers, "Apparently weddings make her emotional. We pulled at a little convenience store and I got her one of those little alcohol shot bottles—"

"One?!" Mycroft cries as they drag Emily into the sitting room.

"Ok, a few. I didn't think she'd get this bad!"

"Jesus, Lestrade..."

Emily giggles between them. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she mutters, then leans over and kisses near Mycroft's mouth.

Gregory laughs next to them as they drop Emily onto the sofa.

"Hey, Dad wants to know—" Sherlock asks, wandering into the room. "What…"

Emily jumps off the sofa, pushing passed Mycroft and Gregory, then practically attacks Sherlock.

"My darling, how are you?!" she cries, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him roughly.

Sherlock's eyes are wide as he stands shocked still as Emily kisses him. Gregory laughs, getting Mycroft's attention.

"How many times did she kiss you?" she asks him.

"Once…" he mutters. She eyes him suspiciously. "Twice…maybe three times, just now, on the front steps."

Mycroft rolls her eyes and pulls her best friend away from her little brother. "Alright, I'm going to get her some coffee. Do not let her leave this room, for god's sake, Dot will kill us if she's sloshed all over our guests. I don't even want to know which of my family members she'd try to kiss first."

From the sofa, Emily perks up again. "Definitely your Dot's sister Beatrice, is she here?!"

With a thoughtful look, Sherlock shrugs in agreement. Mycroft just sighs and leaves the room.

She returns not ten minutes later with a mug, the entire pot of coffee, and biscuits. Emily is leaned back relaxed on the sofa, staring at the two men in the room, who have their arms crossed and are staring at each other.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asks to no one.

Both men slowly turn to her with stern looks on their faces.

She just ignores them and sits next to Emily on the sofa, pushing the mug into her hands and pouring it to the rim.

"Aww," Emily whines, "I like sugar."

"Too bloody bad," Mycroft mutters, tilting the mug against her lips.

"Why are you so mean?" Emily asks after taking a healthy drink.

Mycroft takes a slow, deep breath, knowing the 'Emily-Being-Drunk-Around-Her-Family' Crisis being diverted.

"Gregory, this is my brother Sherlock. Sherlock, Gregory."

Like a mirror, they tentatively shake hands.

"Nice jaw line," Sherlock says, examining Gregory further. "How did you break your hand?"

"How did you know I—"

"Sherlock, stop it. I didn't invite him here as a shiny new toy for you to deduce for two days."

"But—"

Mycroft glares at him.

Sherlock frowns and crosses his arms again.

After Emily consumes an entire cup, Mycroft checks her watch and realizes they've been gone for an awfully long time. She asks Sherlock to stay with Emily so she and Lestrade can join the meal outside.

* * *

 

Everybody instantly loves Gregory. It helps that he's handsome and that he looks so trustworthy, anyone can strike a conversation with him at any moment. It pleases Mycroft immensely that her family seems to like him so quickly.

Emily feels better by the time it's time for the men to go golfing and the women to have their own 'fun time', as Dot continuously calls it—they're going into the nearest town to pick up her wedding dress, then going to a 'dainty' pub, again as Dot calls it.

Before they leave, Mycroft helps take Gregory and Emily's luggage up to the rooms they'll be staying in.

"This is my bedroom," Mycroft explains as they enter the room.

"Aww, is this your kid bedroom?"

"Yeah, my brother's bedroom is actually still connected from childhood and—"

Before she can say anything more, Gregory grabs her and presses his mouth firmly against hers. Mycroft is so stunned, maybe a little dazed, so at first she doesn't kiss back, but soon she gets her bearings and kisses him back with as much excitement as he has.

"I've missed you," he whispers, holding her tight.

"I've—" is all she gets out before he's kissing her again.

Minutes, what seems like hours, later, there's a knock on her door from Sherlock's attached door. Before they can part, the door swings open and Sherlock and Emily laugh behind them.

"Are they always like this?" Sherlock asks, disgusted.

"Honestly, I'm just relieved to see they are like this at all," Emily replies.

Sherlock chuckles. Mycroft glares at him as she gathers her large purse.

"Alright, we're off," Mycroft announces, "Dad is expecting you downstairs in a few minutes. Call me if you need anything, don't forget to eat, don't drink too much, don't—"

Sherlock groans.

Mycroft rolls her eyes at him, then her and Emily head out of the room. Mycroft's stomach turns at the thought of Gregory not enjoying this, then perhaps breaking up with her because of it.

* * *

 

Greg's never had huge family functions such as this. There's people everywhere, tons of people to meet. Luckily, he's never been one to be anxious over meeting new people; people have always founded it easy to talk with him. Of course, he's never used that skill until Mycroft came along, but that's neither here nor there.

Except this kid, Sherlock. The few times Mycroft has talked about her family, it's been highly about Sherlock. She says he's so smart, so talented, but he just seems…so angry. Mycroft did mention his drug problem. Maybe he is having withdraws.

But there lots of people to talk to instead. Dot's brothers and distant relatives, William –Mycroft's dad- and his brothers and distant relatives, and even their deceased mother's relatives. Which, if Greg is honest, he finds a bit odd. But he's never had to deal with a situation like this.

The whole situation does make him appreciate his relationship with Mycroft more. He appreciates that she would trust him with meeting her family.

Around Hole 13, waiting around for someone's brother to get his ball out of the bunker, Greg can't help but stare at Sherlock anxiously checking his phone every three seconds. Greg remembers those days…months ago…when he'd wait around for Mycroft to call him, or text him, or pay him any sort of attention. Even now, he eagerly awaits her calls, but he's more subtle about it. And he knows she'll call eventually so he doesn't have to check every three seconds.

But Sherlock, poor kid. It's like he's waiting for his first girlfriend.

Or…boyfriend. Mycroft's never mentioned it.

Greg nonchalantly makes his way to Sherlock's side. Sherlock frowns and stares at the ground.

"Girl troubles?"

Sherlock slowly tilts his face to glare at Greg.

"…Boy troubles?"

Sherlock sighs. It's the same annoyed sigh Mycroft gives him.

"I mean…I'm a boy, I could try to help."

"What is it, exactly, that you think I am?"

"Fair enough," Greg says, gazing high at the sky. A bird flies overhead. He wishes it would swoop down and swallow him. The entire afternoon was fine until now.

"But yes," Sherlock finally says. "I am having a…problem."

"Anything you want to…I don't know, rant about? I'm a pretty good listener. Advice—"

"It's fine."

"Oh. Okay."

"Look," Sherlock mutters, "You don't have to pretend to be nice to me because of you and my sister. Nobody else ever has, save for Emily."

"I'm not trying to—" Greg pauses, stuck on Sherlock's second sentence. "How many others…"

They're called over to head with the group to the next round. Greg is left curious wondering how many other people (dates) Mycroft has introduced to her family. Not that it's his business (well, not really), but he still wants to know.

* * *

 

The men arrive back from golfing on time for dinner, even though they all ate appetizers at the course clubhouse, along with their cocktails and beers. They reek of sweat and booze as they greet their wives. William grasps Gregory by the shoulders and tells Mycroft that he sucks at golf.

Gregory shrugs as William releases him and he makes his way to Mycroft. He sweeps down and kisses her forehead. Mycroft doesn't care for displays of affection, and she's glad he's remembered that.

"I definitely suck at golf," he says, kneeling behind the bench Mycroft and Emily are sharing. The back is at a height where he can lean his arms near their shoulders, so he rests his arms and Mycroft strokes his hand.

"And my dad got you drunk," Mycroft quietly says.

"And your dad got me drunk," Gregory agrees.

"How was the rest of it?" she asks, motioning to Sherlock.

Gregory eyes him. "Interesting."

Mycroft wishes she knew what he was thinking, but before she can ask, he stands.

"I need a shower, should I use—"

"My attached bathroom, yeah. There are towels in the cupboard."

"I'm going to lay down after. I've had a…" Gregory glances at Emily. "Long day."

Emily pipes up behind her teacup. "Hey, we had an adventure!"

Mycroft just smiles at them, pleased. "Alright," she says to Gregory. "I'll be up soon."

He smiles down at her, then kisses her head again before kissing Emily's, too. Mycroft laughs as he darts away, back into the house.

All of the women go to bed after the men, for their day was probably more leisurely than the mens' spent playing a leisurely activity. The older women start to joke about Dot 'Saving it for the wedding night,' so Mycroft thinks that is a good time for her and Emily to duck out.

When she gets into her bedroom, Lestrade is already asleep on her bed. She changes into her sleep clothes and slips under the comforter next to him.

Lestrade grunts and turns over to face her.

"Are you asleep?" he asks, face mashed against his pillow.

Mycroft laughs, tucking the blanket around her. "No, but you are. Ssshhh…"

Gregory shifts to pull Mycroft under his arm, his nose now digging into her shoulder.

He lets out a deep sigh and Mycroft thinks he's fallen completely asleep once again, but he mumbles out, "How many people have you dated?"

Mycroft can't help but laugh, but wonder where this came from. "Uhm…what?"

"Your brother…"

Mycroft rubs her face. "Oh god. Don't ever listen to him, okay? Anything he tells you, promise me he won't get in your head."

"'Kay…" Gregory sighs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

With a smile, Mycroft shuts her eyes and joins Gregory in sleep.


	15. Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sex in this chapter.

On Sunday morning, Mycroft wakes in a panicked frenzy. Her phone reads 9 A.M., which is two hours later than she’d anticipated on sleeping in, so she bounds from the bed like it’s on fire, leaving Lestrade snoring on her spare pillow.

Mycroft is always in charge of family events, and it has been this way since she was a child. She always planned Christmas dinners and parties, Sherlock’s birthday parties, she even planned her mother’s funeral. It’s just always been in her nature to be the one more organized person in the room. This event is no different, so everything has to be perfect.

At ten she sends for the cake to be delivered. Then she runs upstairs to wake Sherlock up. Then she helps set tables. Then she gets Dot and the rest of the bridal party out of the main house and into the guest house, which is a small cottage closer to the bit of yard where the ceremony will take place. It’s spacious enough for the women to get ready.

In her own bathroom around 11:30, she showers quickly. Dry and hair dried, she enters her bedroom wrapped in a towel to find her undergarments still tucked in her suitcase.

“Hey…” she hears from the bed, a voice grumbly with sleep.

Knowing he’s there doesn’t stop her from jumping in shock. He laughs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Almost noon, I have to be out at the guest house in a few minutes to have my hair done and to get dressed. Will you be okay by yourself?”

Lestrade dramatically falls back onto the bed. “I guess I will go on without you. For a while.”

Mycroft smiles, then disappears back into the bathroom to put her clothes on.

* * *

 

The ceremony is perfect. Well, to everyone else it is perfect, to Mycroft it could be better. When she was young, she was upset because she was making an art project that turned out (to her) awful, but her dad told her over and over that it was beautiful. And finally he told her something that sits with her today, staring at the flowers that aren’t quite right and thinking about the cake that didn’t turn out exactly how she envisioned it.

What he told her was that only she has her imagination, and only she can see something wrong in something that came from her own head because she envisioned it differently, but nobody else has any idea what that thing in her head looks like. So she accepts it all, taking a deep breath and knowing that she did all she could to ensure the perfect Sunday.

Plus, Sherlock is generally well behaved, so really the world could have burned during the ceremony and all she’d really care about is that Sherlock was showered, dressed on time, and doesn’t smell like an ashtray. His smile is fake, but Mycroft can’t control everything.

After a quick twenty minutes of standing at the altar, Dot is officially a part of their family and the wedding party is herded to the small lake on their property for pictures. This is where she almost loses Sherlock, but she manages to lure him like a puppy to his spot with a cigarette. Dot and William both turn their backs and pretend not to see, or they just uncaringly ignore it because it’s their happy day. Mycroft would if she was them.

Pictures take almost an hour, all the time Mycroft wishing she had a snack, or a drink. All of the guests are up closer to the house, where the late lunch/early dinner will be served. Food at 3, party at 4. And the party will last a while because this family, even the older people in the family, like a good get together.

Finally they join the rest of the guests, and everybody is ready for lunch. This is where Mycroft takes a step back and lets the servers do their jobs; instead of passing out the food herself she sits between Emily and Gregory at their immediate family table and accepts the plate set in front of her.

“Did you make the food, too?” Emily jokingly asks, knowing how much effort Mycroft put into the day.

Mycroft just laughs and sips her wine.

After lunch, Mycroft and Sherlock have to make toasts, being the Maid of Honor and Best Man. Mycroft’s is a good length and sweet, Dot cries as Mycroft welcomes her (officially) to their family.

Sherlock stands up and says, “Congratulations.” Then sits down again. Everyone laughs, but Mycroft kicks him under the table. Sherlock just shrugs and slumps in his seat, glaring at his sister.

When the sun goes down, tables are cleared and everyone gets to the dance floor. The band plays all different kinds of music: pop, instrumentals, oldies, top 40 hits. Mycroft is glad she chose this band because everyone is having a great time.

And then, around 6 o’clock, it happens.

Mycroft and Emily are huddled together at their table, drinking happily while Lestrade talks feet away with Mycroft’s cousin Christopher. Sherlock had disappeared, probably back to his bedroom trying to avoid general _fun_ , but nobody really notices anything different until Christopher leans down and taps Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Hey, who’s that?” Christopher asks, nodding towards side of the house where a confused young man seems to be looking for someone.

Hope blooms in Mycroft’s belly. Could it be John Watson?

Mycroft hurries to the young man, just catching him before he can turn around to leave.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” she asks.

“I’m…I was looking for my flatmate, I thought he’d be here—“

“You _are_ looking for Sherlock!” Mycroft excitedly exclaims.

The boy, John, looks even more confused. “How do you—“

“I’m Mycroft, his sister. You must be John,” she offers her hand to shake and he hesitantly takes it.

“You’re Mycroft?” he asks in disbelief. “But you’re so…”

“So…”

“Hot.”

Mycroft slowly smiles, then lets out a laugh. No doubt John’s heard horror stories about her.

“I’ll get Sherlock for you, okay? Just go sit with those people over there,” Mycroft points to her table where Emily and Lestrade are sitting.

John thanks her, then does as told and goes to the table.

Mycroft practically runs upstairs. Excited, she throws open Sherlock’s bedroom door, startling the young man lying on his bed.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks, sitting up.

Mycroft wants to drag Sherlock downstairs to surprise him, but there are two reasons she can’t do that. Reason the first, he’d never leave this room with her, and he’s a lot stronger than he is. Second, she doesn’t want Sherlock to do something stupid upon first seeing John. Sherlock is capable of some sort of anxious breakdown when surprised. She learned this the first and last time she threw him a surprise birthday party.

“I have to tell you something,” she says, sitting down next to Sherlock.

Sherlock actually scoots back on his bed to allow her room to sit.

Mycroft decides to come right out with the start. “I took your phone and texted John inviting him here tonight.”

“You did _what_?!”

“I’m sorry! Only…I’m not. He’s here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock, who had taken out his phone to text no doubt the most awkward apology of his life, pauses to slowly look up at her. “He’s…what?”

“He’s here, out at my table, talking with Emily and Gregory. He’s here, Sherlock. Dressed in a suit. For you.”

“Not _for_ me.”

“He put on a suit and drove hours out of his way to lately attend a last minute invitation to attend the wedding of two people he’s never met in his entire life. _For_ you. Whether it’s romantic or just a genuine ploy to be a really good friend, he’s here for you.”

“Jesus…” Sherlock sighs, trying to comprehend it all. He stands up and straightens his rumpled suit jacket. “How’s my hair?” he asks.

Mycroft laughs. “It’s really fine.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and steps to the door.

Mycroft nearly screams in anticipation the entire walk downstairs. She wants to know why John chose to come here, why John hasn’t been talking to Sherlock if he was going to show up here. She did notice the way John perked up a little bit when Mycroft said Sherlock’s name, the nervous look in his eye when she said she’d go get Sherlock. None of those reactions come from a man who is here for a ‘just friend’.

Mycroft leads Sherlock out to their table, where they find Lestrade and Emily staring at John.

“So!” Mycroft announces as they approach. She steps to the side and waves her arms awkwardly in front of Sherlock. “Here he is!”

John shuffles to his feet. “Hey Sherlock,” he mutters, nervously licking his lips. “Can we talk?”

Sherlock lifts his eyebrows expectantly.

John glances at the eyes staring at them. “Privately?”

Sherlock motions away from the crowd, so the two walk away from the party into the dark where nobody will hear them.

“He totally loves Sherlock,” Emily says, sitting back at the table to pick at her cake.

“Yeah,” Gregory agrees, “Should’ve seen his face the entire time _someone_ asked him very intrusive questions about some pretty private things.”

“I asked him questions about Sherlock,” Emily argues. “And his face was the same this one makes when someone mentions anything you like.”

Mycroft smiles at Lestrade. “What?”

“I don’t do anything that isn’t normal for a man in a relationship.”

Emily mocks Lestrade’s voice, “Mycroft loves this song. Mycroft likes these snacks. Mycroft breathes air,” her voice returns to normal. “The entire drive here.”

Mycroft just smiles happily.

“Okay, okay,” Lestrade sighs. “Come on, let’s dance.” He stands and takes Mycroft’s hand.

“Actually, I have something I want to show you. You good here, Em?”

Emily grins knowingly. “Sure. I’ll go dance with that Christopher I like so much.”

Mycroft just rolls her eyes, then pulls Lestrade through the tables, snagging a bottle of champagne as they go.

* * *

 

“So, where are we going?” Gregory asks, confused.

“To the garage. I want you to see my dad’s cars.”

“Oh?” Gregory asks, intrigued.

“Yeah, he likes cars. He has a bit of a collection.”

When they enter the giant room, Mycroft turns on the sets of lights that spotlight each individual car. She shuts the door tight and makes sure it’s locked before joining Gregory further into the garage.

 

“I can’t believe your dad has all of these cars.”

 

“Yeah, it’s grown to be quite the obsession. I’ve accompanied him on trips where the sole purpose was to see a car. One time, we flew all the way to San Francisco, saw the car, and flew right back.”

 

Greg shakes his head. “They’re amazing. Have you driven them all?”

 

“Not all of them. The ’66 Alfa Romeo Spider is what I learned to drive in.”

 

“What kind of person gets to say that?” he asks playfully. “You’re from a whole different world than I am.”

 

Mycroft shrugs. Gregory seems to be taking that well, at least. Most men are resentful or embarrassed that she has far more than the average person. But Gregory is just in awe.

 

“Tomorrow we can take one out,” she tells him as they move on to look at the silver ’69 Camaro. “Just pick one and I’ll get the keys.”

 

“Really?” he asks, his face lighting up excitedly.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft laughs.

 

Greg wanders over to the blue ’67 Corvette. “I think I like this one.”

 

“Really? Not the Aston Martin? Like James Bond?”

 

“No. I like this one.”

 

 Mycroft nods. “I’ll get the keys.”

 

Gregory just smiles and stares at the car.

 

Mycroft remembers she has the bottle of champagne, so she twists the tie and pops the cap off, making Gregory jump.

 

“A little warning,” he mutters as she laughs.

 

“Sorry,” she says, taking a drink from the bottle and handing it to him.

 

“I’ve never really liked champagne,” he admits, drinking from the bottle anyway.

 

“You get used to it.” She takes another drink.

 

He laughs at her. “I’ve never seen you drunk.”

 

“Yes you have,” she argues.

 

He snorts. “When? Never in my memory have you ever been drunk around me.”

 

“That is because I am not sloppy like everyone else our age, and I can hold my liquor, unlike any of the dumb girls you date.”

 

“Wait, wait. Yes, you get mean when you’re drunk. I see it now.”

 

“I do not get mean.”

 

“Do you call all girls ‘dumb’?”

 

“I—“

 

“You’ve never once called a girl dumb. You get mean when you’re drunk.”

 

Gregory hands her the bottle and she drinks until it’s half gone.

 

“You only think they’re dumb because you like me,” Gregory says.

 

Mycroft makes a face. “No.”

 

“You do, you like me. I know it.” He’s playful, just teasing her. It makes Mycroft happy to be with him.

 

Mycroft turns and begins to walk towards the far side of the garage, where it is the most private. “I do not.” She can tease, too.

 

“Then why am I here?”

 

“Because you are constantly desperate to date me.”

 

Gregory laughs. He reaches out to catch her hand, but she hops away quickly.

 

“You’re making me chase you, is that it?”

 

“Aren’t you always chasing me?”

 

They dart through cars, Mycroft spinning out of Gregory’s grasp and stumbling just slightly over her own feet. Gregory laughs behind her, and Mycroft wants to continue making him laugh. Something curls low in her belly; something like nervousness and excitement. When Gregory laughs, butterflies come alive deep within her. She’s never felt this before.

 

Which makes her finally let him catch her. He pulls her close by placing one hand on her ribs and the other on the opposite hip.

 

“I think I’m beginning to feel this champagne,” he whispers against her lips.

 

“Me too.”

 

“This was your plan. To get me drunk and flirt with me.”

 

“It wasn’t difficult.”

 

Gregory smiles.

 

Mycroft reaches up and brushes her lips against his. His breath catches in his throat.

 

He captures her lips, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. She wraps her arms around his neck, cautious of the bottle still in her hands, and pulls him as close to her as possible.

 

Gregory walks her backwards until she’s pushed against the hood of a car, where she sits on the very edge and he pushes his way to stand between her thighs.

 

“ _This_ was your plan,” he says between sucking kisses, his hands moving to instead cup her jaw and hold her in place.

 

Usually she leads, she’d be the one pushing him against a car, but for now this is fine. It’s not what she had planned, though. After kissing for a few slow minutes, she manages to push him away and stand from the car.

 

He looks shocked, almost hurt, so she grabs his tie and pulls him to the side of the car with her. Mycroft opens the door.

 

“Get in,” she demands.

 

He quickly does as told, scooting over on the leather seat to sit towards the middle.

 

"These back seats are quite cramped."  
  
Mycroft closes the door, then straddles Lestrade's hips.  
  
"Oh," he mutters. "Never mind."  
  
Mycroft grins and takes one last swig of champagne before handing the bottle to Lestrade.  
  
"This is quite naughty you know," he says, taking drink. "Getting drunk and fucking in the backseat of one of your dad's cars. I'm trying not to imagine teenage you doing just this."  
  
Mycroft shoves the cork back into the bottle and places it gently on the floor.  
  
"Got drunk? Yes. Got drunk in the backseat of one of my dad's cars? No. Fucked? No."  
  
"Really?" Lestrade asks, smiling.  
  
Mycroft rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she mumbles, leaning forward and kissing him again  
  
Lestrade's hands wander her body, everywhere he can reach he touches. Eventually, his hands rub her knees that are on either side of his hips, then he slides up her thighs to her hips, taking the skirt of her dress up with him.  
  
Mycroft grinds down on the growing bulge in Lestrade's trousers, making him hiss in pleasure. She likes that he's so vocal while they're together like this. In the past, she thought it was weird when a man would make as much noise as he does. But with Lestrade, she wants to hear what she does to his body. She wants to know that she's making him feel good. And he lets her know.  
  
He let's go of her lips to kiss down her jaw to her neck. He licks and sucks on a spot where she's made it known she likes, and her hips buck freely in response.  
  
Mycroft moans when he does it again. "Take your cock out," he demands, sitting up and leaning over to get her underwear off of one thigh.  
  
"Do you have a condom?" he asks.  
  
Mycroft nods, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling one out.  
  
"I walked around with that in my pocket all night?" Lestrade asks, embarrassed.  
  
Mycroft smirks and kisses him again.  
  
Once the condom is on, she gives Lestrade a few teasing strokes while he reaches up and begins to tease her, too. He rubs two fingers along her clit, then he licks his fingers and spreads the moisture around for an easier slide.  
  
The car is filled with moans and the scent of their bodies together, and by the time Mycroft sinks down on Lestrade's cock, they're both a mess of desperation.  
  
Lestrade babbles while Mycroft sets an even pace. The champagne must be making him chatty, she thinks.  
  
"I've thought about this all night," he whispers, his head rolling back against the seat. "You looked so fucking sexy."  
  
Her hips snap and he gasps, his fingers digging into her thighs. He offers no help, but she likes it like this. She likes that she controls him like this; she likes that he is helpless when she's on top of him.  
  
"Fuck..." He whispers, his arms tightening around her.  
  
She answers with a moan, her pace quickening as she feels her orgasm approaching already. Her eyes slide shut as she feels no longer in control of herself.  
  
Seconds later, as she teetering right on the edge, she feels one of Lestrade's big hands easily freeing one of her breasts from her dress. She's sent over the edge when she feels his mouth slide over her nipple. She grips his hair to keep him in place, then grinds down on him and comes for what seems like hours, not noticing that he comes too until he's hissing with over sensitivity.  
  
Lestrade grips her hips and she thrusts one last time to milk the last of his come.  
  
"God, Holmes," he sighs as he sinks into the seat again. "You kill me."  
  
She slides Lestrade out of her but remains on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

 

“If I get an erection next time I see a Fiat, it’s your fault.”

 

Mycroft laughs. “I’ll take it.”

 

Gregory smiles at her fondly, then kisses her cheek. Now she knows she’s really drunk because she doesn’t make fun of him for such a sentimental move.

 

They stay in the garage long enough to calm down, to not return to the party very obviously having just had sex. But nobody even notices they were gone. Instead, most eyes are on Sherlock and John, sitting close together on the back patio not far away.

 

The guests staying away from the house finally leave late, and slowly the party dies down with everyone going to bed. Dot and William say their goodbyes and get into a car that will take them into town to stay in an inn for the evening. In the morning, they’ll return for breakfast with the remaining guests before the wedding weekend truly ends.

 

Mycroft doesn’t care about cleanup or making sure everyone is comfortable, which is what she usually does. Instead, she takes a still drunk Lestrade upstairs to bed.

 

As she’s brushing her teeth and washing her face, Sherlock barges into the bathroom from his door.

 

“Where’s John sleeping, then?” she asks as he begins his nightly ritual, which is the same as hers.

 

“On my floor,” he happily replies.

 

“The floor, huh?”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“Did you at least tell him how you feel?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And?!”

 

“And…” Sherlock cracks a small smile. “I’m not entirely upset with you for texting him.”

 

“I know that’s the closest I’ll get to a thank you, so you’re welcome.”

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

 

Mycroft just smiles at her happy little brother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so long, but I want the story to progress and to be done with the wedding. Also, I am currently working on two different stories, just a bit stuck on both. So hopefully some more stuff with be produced soon!


	16. Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for mentions of abuse in the past relationship.

Mycroft gets up early the next morning because she first needs to make sure everyone who needs to leave the house will make it out of the house on time, then she agreed to take Gregory on a ride in one of her dad’s fancy cars.

 

She’s alone in the bathroom, just brushing her teeth, both doors securely shut but not latched, apparently, because John bursts in a second later.

 

“Oh, crap, jesus, I’m so sor—I didn’t kn—“

 

Mycroft has been used to someone barging into the bathroom from the other door since she was a kid. “Don’t worry about it,” she says through a mouth full of foam. “Give me a second.”

 

She finishes rinsing her mouth while he still awkwardly stands there. Mycroft begins rubbing a cream mask on her face, turning towards John as she does.

 

She notices a lot of things about him. He hops from foot to foot: he needs to pee. He rubs roughly at the back of his neck: he did sleep on the floor all night. His lips are a tad swollen: they kissed. Mycroft grins at him.

 

“What…?” John hesitantly asks.

 

“Nothing, nothing.”

 

“Oh, no. You can do that thing too, can’t you? It’s intriguing when Sherlock does it, but when you do it…”

 

Mycroft turns back to the sink. “I was simply looking at you, that’s all. My brother said you were attractive, I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect.”

 

Through the mirror, Mycroft catches his blush.

 

“Sherlock said that?” John asks, rubbing his neck again. This time as an embarrassed tick.

 

Mycroft just smiles at him. “I’ll let you use the toilet,” she says, exiting from her door with the mask still smeared on her face.

 

She’s too busy setting both hers and Gregory’s clothes out to hear him stir in the bed and eventually wake. It’s not until he mutters a scared, “Shit!” that she notices him.

 

“What?!” she yells back.

 

“What the hell is on your face?!”

 

At that, Mycroft laughs. “It’s a mask to wash my face.”

 

Gregory slowly shifts into a sitting position and rubs his eyes. “Scared me half to death.”

 

Mycroft climbs across her side of the bed. “It’s just me,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him.

 

His head ducks back quickly. “Not-uh. Don’t come near me with that stuff.”

 

“Why? It’s just face wash.” She tries again.

 

Gregory falls back onto the bed to avoid her kiss.

 

Mycroft jumps on the bed and climbs over him, straddling his stomach.

 

“Ugh! Off!” he cries, “You’re going to get that shit on me!”

 

Mycroft wipes a finger through a spot on her cheek that’s thick and still wet, then smears it down his nose and across each cheek.

 

“No!” he cries, but he’s laughing.

 

“It’ll make you feel so great, I promise!”

 

Mycroft continues transferring the cream from her face to his while he tries to grab her wrists to stop her. They laugh loudly, not caring that John is probably still in the bathroom next door.

 

Finally, when Gregory has a thin layer covering most of his face, and some on his bare chest, Mycroft gives up. Gregory holds onto her wrists and pulls her down for a kiss.

 

They don’t hear her bedroom door open. Between giggles because of more smears straight from Mycroft’s face, someone clears their throat from the doorway.

 

Three sets of confused eyes are watching them.

 

“Does nobody believe in privacy anymore?” Mycroft asks, sitting up but still sitting on Gregory’s stomach.

 

John raises his hand. “I did mention I’ve already seen you in a compromising positing this morning.”

 

“Wait, what?” Gregory asks.

 

“I was brushing my teeth,” Mycroft argues.

 

“Well, not that this hasn’t been enough entertainment from you two to last a lifetime,” Emily says, “And that last night’s weird wondering if everyone knew you just had sex…”

 

Lestrade sighs awkwardly.

 

Emily continues, “But I’ve got to get back for a class at eleven.”

 

“Oh!” Mycroft mutters, getting off the bed. “Hang on, let me go wash my face and I’ll walk you out.”

 

Mycroft goes to the bathroom, but the other three stay in the bedroom.

 

“Uhm…a little privacy, please?” Gregory asks instead of getting out of the bed. “I’m not wearing any pants.”

 

From the sink, Mycroft can see John blush, Sherlock smirk (at John), and Emily linger in the room still. She just rolls her eyes at all three.

 

* * *

 

Greg watches from the sitting room window as Emily and Mycroft say their goodbye’s outside. Why they need nearly twenty minutes alone to say goodbye is beyond Greg, for they could see each other later tonight if they wanted. But he says nothing, he doesn’t interrupt their lengthy chat outside.

 

Sherlock watches a bit too, but Greg isn’t sure why. He and John are talking on the sofa, but from where Sherlock is sitting he can easily turn his head to see out the window.

 

A few minutes pass and John asks if he can get some more tea. The three men are alone in the house, so Sherlock jokingly promises he won’t run into any more family members in ‘compromising positions’, so John goes to the kitchen alone.

 

Sherlock stares out the window again when John leaves. After a silent minute, he asks, “Strange, isn’t it? Normal human interaction.”

 

“You don’t engage in ‘normal human interaction’?” Greg asks.

 

“Not usually, no.”

 

Greg grins. “So last night was—“

 

Sherlock’s head snaps back to glare at him.

 

Greg chuckles. “Your secret is safe, I don’t think Mycroft saw you and John snogging anyway.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t say anything. “And I won’t tell my sister that you have failed at three job interviews you’ve had this past week.”

 

Greg stops laughing. “How do you—“

 

“You don’t check your email very discreetly.”

 

Greg doesn’t say anything right away. It’s very clear Sherlock doesn’t like him. He does want to know why. He wants to know what he’s done to offend Sherlock.

 

“Why don’t you like me?” he finally asks, sounding like an inarticulate toddler.

 

“You’re an uneducated footballer who didn’t own a tie before this weekend.”

 

“So basically,” Lestrade says. “I’m not good enough for your sister?”

 

“Don’t take it personally, no man is good enough for my sister.”

 

Greg knows Sherlock does think highly of Mycroft, even though he’s a brat to her most of the time. They grew up without a mother, she practically raised him for a lot of his life. Sherlock’s the only man Mycroft’s ever had in her life, Greg knows Sherlock’s never needed to compete. For all Greg knows, he’s been taking Mycroft away from Sherlock all this time.

 

“Except you, of course,” Greg finally replies.

 

Greg doesn’t miss the slight blush across Sherlock’s cheeks.

 

Sherlock plows on. “She never talks about you, though.”

 

“You say it as though I’m supposed to be pleased.”

 

“I think you ought to be.”

 

Greg glances at him sideways. “I don’t follow.”

 

Sherlock sighs, looking out the window at Emily and Mycroft again. “When I was seven, just after our mother died, I was hiding under her bed because I didn’t want to eat dinner. I found a large box underneath, it took all my strength to haul it out from under the bed. Anyway, I, being curious and a pain in her arse, opened it and found many things inside.”

 

Greg isn’t sure he follows, but he asks what was in the box anyway.

 

“My mother’s birth certificate; the baby outfit I was brought home from the hospital in; the keys to my father’s ’65 Jaguar, which hadn’t been driven in ages because he’d ‘lost’ the keys; a pair of socks, which I’ve still never found the importance of; a human tooth, which I found later to be my first lost tooth; and a stuffed bunny she had when she was a tot.”

 

“So…”

 

“So she keeps sentimental items hidden in a box under bed. For all intents and purposes, you’ve been hidden under her bed for, what? A year?”

 

“I don’t think it’s been like that this whole time,” Greg argues. Surely he just wasn’t mentioned because Mycroft didn’t even like him until recently.

 

“Nonsense,” Sherlock replies. “She talks about everybody. Girls talk a lot, really.”

 

Greg smiles at the thought of Mycroft calling Sherlock with gossip. Maybe it’s the other way around and Mycroft just follows Sherlock’s lead to talk about other people.

 

“She has kept you hidden from me, especially.”

 

“Is that a weird way of saying you steal her boyfriends?”

 

Sherlock chuckles and looks at Greg. “You’ve met Devlin Wrong? How do you think she figured out he was gay?”

 

Greg laughs hard at that. “Yeah, alright.”

 

“As a matter of fact,” Sherlock mutters, “That’s probably how he figured out he was gay.”

 

Greg laughs harder. Sherlock still grins.

 

They’re silent for a minute, both men watching Mycroft outside. Greg glances at Sherlock, and he looks fond. Fond and somewhat envious. Mycroft talks easily with Emily, her best friend. Mycroft  _has_  a best friend, but from what Greg has picked up, John is Sherlock’s first real friend. Mycroft, as cold as she seems to people upon first meeting, talks easier with people than any other very social person Greg has ever known. Once you get into Mycroft’s circle, she puts all she can into her friendship. Greg’s noticed it with a lot of people that Mycroft claims to have just known from a class. Greg can tell Sherlock wishes he were more like Mycroft. Hell, Greg wishes he could be more like Mycroft.

 

“Just don’t hurt her.”

 

Greg looks at Sherlock. He’s still watching Mycroft and looking like he didn’t just say that.

 

“I don’t think she could be hurt,” is the first thing Greg can think of to say.

 

“Of course she could. And I’ll be left to pick up the pieces.”

 

Greg frowns.

 

“And no,” Sherlock adds, turning to him, “I don’t mean the pieces of her broken heart. I mean the pieces of your body I will be forced to chop to bits if she cries just once because of you.”

 

He looks so serious that Greg gulps in fear.

 

Mycroft appears out of nowhere at their sides. Greg didn’t even notice she’d come back into the house.

 

“How are you two getting on?” she cheerily asks. “And where’s John?”

 

“He went for more tea. Ages ago, actually, I don’t know where he went.” Sherlock smiles at his sister.

 

Greg imagines he still looks a bit shocked.

 

Mycroft sighs and turns to Sherlock. “Great, what did you say to him?”

 

“Nothing!” Sherlock cries.

 

When Mycroft looks back at Greg, he forces a smile.

 

She looks at him softly. “Want to go for a ride?”

 

Greg shakes the nervousness and nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Of course Mycroft notices that Gregory is quiet during the start of the ride. He doesn’t voice how excited he is about driving what he chose. He doesn’t argue or ask anything when Mycroft points which direction to drive. He’s just silent.

They’re about fifteen minutes into the drive when Mycroft’s taken as much as she’ll let go on. However, as she starts to speak, as does he.

“What did—“ she starts.

“Your brother—“

They glance at each other.

“You go,” Lestrade says.

“No, no, please. You go first.”

Gregory nods and starts again. “Your brother has a bit of a mommy-dearest thing for you, doesn’t he?”

“What?!” Mycroft cries. “No, no! Why would you even say that?!”

“He seems, just…in awe of you so much.”

“No! Trust me, he can’t stand me for more than a weekend. He gladly tells me all that I do wrong, how I ruin his life. I’m shocked I didn’t get an earful for texting John, but it worked out in his favor, I’d say.”

Gregory loosens up a bit. “I mean not completely creepy but…he looks up to you, a lot. He’s very protective of you.”

“Oh god, he did threaten you, didn’t he?”

“Only a little,” Gregory says.

“Great. But…” Mycroft bites her lip and decides in seconds that it’s better to let Gregory know the next thing she’s going to tell him. “I hope this doesn’t scare you away. But he’s serious.”

Gregory frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He put a guy I used to date in the hospital.”

“What?” Gregory asks. “When?”

“Two years ago.”

“Wh—“

Mycroft notices Gregory physically stop himself from asking why. She knows he doesn’t want to pry, he’s never one to be nosy. But if she’d just learned why someone put an ex in the hospital over him, she’d want to know why, too. Both out of concern and genuine fear. She rarely talks about what happened, she doesn’t even think about it. Only a few people know the whole story, and those who thought they knew thought it was her fault. Over time she’s learned that it wasn’t her fault, so she decides it’s better for him to know now than to take the secret to the grave. Mycroft wants to know everything about Gregory, she assumes Gregory wants to know everything about her.

“You can ask,” she finally says.

“What happened?” he eagerly asks.

Mycroft slowly lifts her shirt, revealing the scars on her side that she rarely even looks at anymore.

“A boyfriend did that to you?!” he almost screams.

Before Mycroft can answer, Gregory pulls the little car off the road, parks it securely, then shuts off the engine.

“Yes,” she says once she has his full attention. “He was nice, until he wasn’t.” She takes a slow, deep breath. “It was a pair of scissors. He was drunk.”

“Oh my god,” is all Gregory says, his voice trying to sound soft.

“I’m okay,” Mycroft says. “I wasn’t for a long time. For a long time, I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault he got so angry. I thought if he got _that_ angry at me that I…” Mycroft stops that thought she’s stopped herself from going back to for years. “Eventually, I got tired of defending a man who didn’t think twice about trying to hurt me this badly. Anyway, Sherlock found out what happened to me and attacked him. All of those years of martial arts I had him in really paid off. I can’t say I’m not proud of him.”

Mycroft glances at Gregory, who is just starting at her like she’s a victim, like he’s afraid of doing anything right now that may make her upset.

“And please,” she tells him. “Don’t say, ‘I’d never hurt you like that.’ If I thought you were capable, I would have never spoken to you. Ever. I’ve always trusted you, even when I didn’t like you very much. After I turned you down so many times, a lot of men would have turned mean. You didn’t. Sure, you were persistent and annoying, but I’ve never felt unsafe with you.”

“I…thank you.”

Mycroft thinks Gregory needs to be comforted now. She reaches over to take his hand, then she pulls it slowly to her mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“Can I ask you a question?” Gregory finally asks as they silently hold hands.

“Sure.”

“Did that girl at the bar call you V because she knows your first name?”

Mycroft stares at him for a second, trying to comprehend what he’s asking. He isn’t asking about this incident at all. He’s asking about something that happened days ago that she forgot about.

It makes her burst out in laughter, positively howl. She laughs so hard that in seconds it turns to tears, two emotional extremes being relieved. Gregory leans over and takes her deep in his arms, pulling her head to his chest and stroking her hair. She doesn’t cry in front of people, only a few people know she’s capable, but he is making her feel very comforted.

“Hey, want to get out of the car for a second?” he asks. “Get some fresh air.”

Mycroft nods, so he jumps out of his side of the car and runs around to her side to help her out. They walk around the car for a few minutes until Mycroft is calm again, then she leans against the side of the car and pulls Gregory to her.

“Are you okay?” he nicely asks.

Mycroft nods. “I’m sorry for that.”

“No, no. I’m glad you told me. Not that Sherlock would actually gladly kill me, but just…what happened. Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Just remember that I do trust you,” is all Mycroft can say. She’d hate for him to treat her differently now, to walk on eggshells around her.

Gregory pulls back a fraction, taking her face between his big hands. He leans forward and kisses her slowly, sweetly. Mycroft grips his t-shirt between them, clutching it tightly and pulling him as close as she can.

Mycroft realizes she’s never wanted anyone as much as she wants him, his everything. She wants him intimately, yes, but she wants to know him, to learn everything about him that she can. In any relationship previous, she would have never invited them to a family event as important as this weekend’s. She’s never felt this spark when kissing anybody else.

Gregory pulls away first, pressing his forehead against hers to take a deep breath.

“This is all very important,” he whispers. “But can I just tell you how jealous I am that the girl from the bar knows your first name and I don’t.”

Mycroft laughs. “What is your obsession?”

“It’s driving me crazy!”

Mycroft pushes him away and walks around to her side of the car. “Come on, let’s hit the road again before we need to leave.”

“We can stay here forever,” Lestrade argues.

“I think not, you have a match Wednesday.”

“Aw!” he sighs, climbing into the car after she’s in. “You remembered. Will you come?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mycroft mutters as Gregory pulls onto the road and drives away fast.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what the statistics for STD rates for Greek members at university's in the UK is. I know the university I went to (good ol' Arizona State University) has, like, the highest rate of STD's of all students in the entire United States, so I pushed some of it into this. I am bad at research, I'm very sorry. This is the last that will be mentioned, I promise.


End file.
